Cats are the oddest critters to ever be domesticated. I mean, living with one cat is usually like living with a pleasantly quiet roommate. Two, even. But up it to three adult cats with very different personalities and one eight-month-old kitten who happens to be Siamese, and you've just opened the door on a whole shitload of trouble.

 So I was dozing peacefully in the wee small hours of the morning, shortly after the Spousal Unit had left for work, when I realized I was missing a furry lump on the bed. I cautiously reached out and found my shorthair girl kitty, The Lover, my medium-hair girl kitty, The Bitch, and felt the clumps of eternally messy fur on the boy kitty, The Dumbass. There was no sign of my kitten, The Insanity.

 I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, reasoning I had no reason to suspect she was doing anything but sleeping on the couch. But she had long regarded these morning hours as her time to be sweet, involving lots of kneading on my head, suckling on my nose and purring as she practiced being a Domesticated Cat rather than the Lioness of the Savannah she spent most of her life as. 

My weary certainty that something was being destroyed finally forced me out of bed, and I blearily staggered down the hall surrounded by the other three, now awake and hungry, calling for her. 

She ignored me, as usual.

I made it into the kitchen and flipped on the light.

"Oh God!" 

 My cookie jar was in several dozen pieces on the floor and there were cookie bits strewn across the counter, sink and floor. It was a mess of unholy proportion. 

"I'm going to kill her," I announced to the others. "She's going to get it this time. I LOVED that cookie jar."

The Bitch glared at me.

"You're the one who brought her home," she reminded me. "I told you not to, but noooooo. You couldn't resist."

I fed her and the other two, and set out in search of The Insanity, shaking the bag of kitten chow and calling.

Finally, as I began pouring her chow into the bowl, I heard a pitiable little mrow. 

"Here, kitty kitty," I called again. "Where are you?" 

Two eyes appeared under the bed, and I got onto my knees to look. The fearless lioness was scrunched all the way under the bed, with her back to the wall and her eyes staring out. 

"Come here little girl, don't you want your breakfast?" I rattled the food in the dish. She waited. 

I sighed. "I promise I won't kill you," I said. "Is that what you need to hear? Come on."

One paw at a time, she crept out from under the bed, belly on the floor and blue eyes wide. 

"I didn't mean to," she told me, whole body tensed and ready to run. "I was just playing, and it fell on me."

I nodded, my heart melting at her obvious fear. "Try not to play with stuff on the counter anymore."

"Can I really eat this?" she nodded toward the food bowl. "Or are you going to yell at me?" 

I got to my feet. "Eat your breakfast," I told her. "I'll go clean up the mess."

She didn't even hear me; her face was buried in the bowl.