Last spring I got a kitten. The one named "Kitty Kick Me." She lived in the barn for the summer and then when I packed up to go to graduate school in the fall, she came with me.
She's been a great housemate (when she's not biting me) and it's been wonderful to come home to her rather than an empty apartment in the evenings (even is she does immediately demand dinner and then forget I'm home).
Yesterday, though, I realized that she wasn't feeling well. Not sick, mind you. But not well. She was mewing--a lot. Something she never does. And she was doing this funny "gotta rub my stomach on the carpet" dance.
So I did what any child of the 80's does when he/she doesn't know what to do; I called my mom. "Mom," I said, "KKM isn't feeling well."
"What's wrong with her?" she asked.
"Well, I'm not sure."
"Well, do you want to take her to the vet?"
"No," I sighed (knowing full well I just didn't want to spend the money). "She's just talking a lot and rubbing on everything and she's just acting weird."
"Oh, I know what's wrong." My mother, being quick about these things and owning a farm and everything, said, "she's in heat."
I think my reply was something along the lines of, "wonderful," but not so articulate.
So, here she lies, incessantly crying and giving me the "come hither and mate me" look every five minutes.
It's going to be a long week.
*On a more positive note, I finished my last requirement for my master's degree today! Yeah me!*