Marley and Me.

"I'm Going to be a Tiger Assassin when I Grow Up!"

I'm about to welcome a new addition into my family. Fuck off, I mean I'm getting a pet. A kitten to be specific. I've named him Marley, after Bob the Rastafarian genius, not Jacob the fictitious regretful ghost. I continue the family tradition of naming pets after a famous musical genius. My sister called her cat "Hendrix" after Jimmy, and I named my cuddly toy tiger (shut up smartarse) "Joplin" after Janice, and now Marley is the latest addition.

Marley will be Doing This from the Kitchen Window.

Marley is only 1 week old, still blind, can't yet stand, but I already get a sense of his personality. Perhaps it's because he stops crying for his mum whilst in my arms, or that he bobs his head when he hears Bob Marley's "Is This Love" playing. Either way, he is already much cooler than me. The Missus has already fallen in love with him, although she's worried as she has a tendancy to be allergic to cats. And dogs. And hamsters. But unfortunately not me. She said "But what if I turn out to be allergic to Marley?". I saw the genuine worry and sadness in her eyes, and I soothlingly replied "Don't worry - I'm sure Marley and I can find alternative accommodation for you". For some unfathomable reason she was not amused. My friends who own Marley's mum said that he will be ready to leave in less than 12 weeks, which for a 10yr old boy like me is an excruciating amount of time.

Still, just wait until the kitten shits diarrhoea all over the bedroom carpet and I'll be ready for microwaving the little bastard. So I need to get the house kitten-proofed. Kitten-proofing a house is like child-proofing it, but impossible. When childproofing a house, you only need to worry about the dangerous things within reach of the child, but cats can reach places you can't. So unless you happen to be Stretch Armstrong, or have Inspector Gadget as a roommate you can only hope for the best. Advice from scholarly experts on the subject of cats include taking some of the dirty gravel from it's old litter tray and putting it in it's new tray in your house, so that it will be familiar with where it is supposed to shit. But that also includes brining pissy gravel into my house which, to be honest, I'm not in the habit of doing. I guess since I'll be inviting a cute little shitting machine into my house for the next 15-20 years I should start as I mean to continue.

"One Way or Another, You're Going In that Food Bowl."

I suppose a plethora of miscellaneous paraphernalia shall be required, which will quickly make Marley the highest maintainance resident of the house by far, I mean, I don't need a scratch post or a litter tray although the same can't be said for the Missus. Marley is going to be an indoors cat, which will be the first time I've had one, the other previous cats all being the outdoorsie kind. That's because I now live in the city centre with all the hustle and bustle of traffic etc. Back when I lived in the arse end of nowhere there were fields and trees and hills for them to roam, chasing the local wildlife. Now I live in the city, the local wildlife carry knives, drink buckfast and are likely to attack Marley with fireworks, so indoors he shall stay.

"I Have the Bowels!!!"

It may not be plain sailing though, especially if Marley turns out to be a bit of a moron. I once had a cat, who after having a major operation had to stay indoors for a few weeks. I knew the vet was poking around inside her, but I thought that it was in her general stomach area not her head because when I got her back, she was distinctly more stupid than when I left her. For a start she had begun standing in her own shit whilst trying to cover up her poo in the litter tray. She would then merrily bounce her way (also a worrying sign) through the whole house. Now we've all stood on dog shit and true sometimes, depending on footwear, we haven't immediately noticed it which is understandable. But she didn't have that excuse. It's not like she went to the loo in Nike Air Max trainers, no she had her bare paws. You'd think that if you're walking barefoot in a big box of rough gravelly stuff, then you stand in a warm soft squidgy bit then it would dawn on you what had just happened. I hardly ever stand on my own poo - it's very rare, but I at least I always notice it when I do.

What is this Warm Fuzzy Feeling Inside? I Don't Like It." 

So with any amount of luck Marley will have 2 brain cells to rub together, which I'm sure will be nice for both Marley and me. After that rusty old disused thing in my chest has started beating again, the Missus said that Marley would probably do me some good. Anyway, when Marley comes home you can expect an update, but for now just enjoy these nauseatingly cute pictures.