A Day in the Life of Agatha

Agatha is slowly adjusting to life here in the Marx household. And we are slowly adjusting to life with a small furry "child."

When I first met the kitty that I would take home, she was completely silent except for a few angelic little "mew"s. But almost as soon as we got into our house that evening, she started up the most awful racket and has hardly stopped since.

I kid you not. We feed her, we love on her, we try desperately not to kick her as she follows our feet everywhere we go, and yet she CONSTANTLY meows. She has a wide range of meows as well. Some seem to say "I'm here, don't forget I'm here," while others protest against some horrific trial she is undergoing. Like when I go into the bathroom and shut the door so she can't follow me in and start licking the toilet (ew). The other day I went to take a shower, and all I could hear the whole time was her loud wailing at being left alone in the hallway. Poor, abused little kitty.

At night, we put her in the second bedroom (I have some slight allergies, so we try to keep her out of our room at night), and she usually gets up every hour to wail and moan, and stick her paws under the door so she can scratch it from the outside.

And yet, there are times when I will be sitting on the couch, and she will come up and just curl into a little fluffball on my lap and start purring. The cuteness slays me.


I'm looking at this whole experience as mild preparation for having real, skin-covered children someday. At least now, when Aggie wakes me up at 3 am I can put earplugs in and go back to sleep. Sigh.