Of Mice and Jane Eyre

So one of the things about having new members of the family, in this case, kittens, is learning more about yourself.

One important thing we have learned in the last few weeks is that, apparently, all of us wiggle our toes in our sleep.  We know this now because of the sequential screams of OWWWWW from around the house in the middle of the night as Fred attacks these "mice" he perceives under the covers with us.  It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have long ass claws and very sharp teeth.

I am afraid that Fred, should he attack Dave's mice again, is going to learn the meaning of "Flying Kitty."

Jane Eyre comes into play with Scarlett.  She is locked in the tower of our master bathroom, howling day and night at the shower.  She scared the bejeesus out of the kittens when they first moved in.  Considering that we do actually have lit candles in the master bath on occasion, and wanting to avoid the complete foreshadowing of that book, I have let that kittens in to see Berth Mason***, I mean, Scarlett, to establish some relationship with her.  She still scares the crap out of them (old gray cat that looks like them with no fur, wobbly stance, and howly meows), but I think we've reduced the chances of her burning down the house.

***And just so you don't think too highly of my literary abilities, I totally looked up Jane Eyre on Wikipedia to make sure I had the story right and also, there is no way in h-e-double-hockey-sticks I would have known the insane wife's name on my own.