Out of the Mouths of Babes

I think the spawn of the Devil lives at my house.

The innocent sweet trembling little kitten we rescued from the crazy cat woman is anything but sweet. If he is trembling its only because he possesses the great power of the underworld.
Every time I try to use the laptop he pounces. His sharp teeth tear at my flesh, he bounds over the keyboard and attacks the screen. He bounds over my bandaged foot. He attacks my crutches. He claws me with his extra claws.
At first I pitied the small beast and quasi affectionately referred to him as the Beast of Pontypandy. The reference is lost on anyone who has limited knowledge of Welsh rescue heroes. ( Fireman Sam is on TIVO, under PBS Kids).
I've come to realize that Paddington simply cannot be compared to an innocently disguised pet sheep. Rather he is truly a beast.
Paddington has a problem with biting. He play bites but his sharp little baby teeth are sinking too deep, cutting too hard. I tried covering his nose when he bit. I've tried blowing in his face. The kids find the latter technique highly amusing, but thats about all its good for.
Paddington is the spawn of the Devil. You can't blow in the face of evil personified and expect it to work. Evil isn't afraid of expressed breath.

Paddington's evil energy knows no bounds. He always has the energy to tear through the house, tearing and clawing at anything and anyone in his path. Of course thats generally me. He wriggles his tiny bottom and attacks, those little teeth sink into my hand, my arm , my leg. Any part of me that has moved or twitched is prey. Prey for the beast.

As I wonder how I'll deal with this wretched creature he collapses into a small pile of contented purring black fur. He curls under the bend of my knee, the crook of my arm, he reaches a surprisingly small and gentle paw and dabs at my face, his eyes full of innocent love , and he falls asleep. The epitome of the sweet and loving kitten, rescued and grateful.

Then he awakens.

He begins his reign of terror once again. He bites , he claws, he stampedes over my body. He pounces on my arms , he hops over my bandaged foot, and he bites. Hard.


I suspect he drinks the blood of goats while we sleep.

Griffin asked where Paddington was this afternoon.

I don't know honey, probably drinking goats blood.

Oh. Pad'ton d'wink goat.

Yes Honey, thats right.

Out of the mouths of babes...