This house is filled with OLD cats. I mean they are all around 3, that's ancient. I am THE Kitten and I am a few months old. My name is Rae Rae, the namesake of my foster parents friend.
I love to play and roughhouse. The world is my toy box. I'm not picky as to what I play with I just want to play. Jingly balls are pretty awesome but so are wrinkles in bedding. I am very good at hiding my toys, it's a special skill. No one seems to like my playing, Wallee my roommate, just bats me away as I try to jump on and attack him. When I can get my ambush on, I can just reach my arms around his neck. He's no fun because if he doesn't bat me he just sits there stoically. Party pooper. My foster parent seems to think that their hands and feet shouldn't be roughhoused with either. No Fun!
Now I'm not perfect, I know that. My memory isn't always the best. Sometimes I forget where I hide my toys, and occasionally where the litter box is. My foster parents figured out a way to help me remember where it is so I don't have accidents any more but for some reason they won't crawl around on the floor, and look in all the nooks and crannys for my toys. Not fair! They're my toys and I NEED them.
I am cute and I know it. I tell the house how cute I am. I have learned the secret to getting attention or something I want. If my good looks don't work then I chirp and meow. Usually short chirps work, a few at a time. If that doesn't work then I start meowing. There is the odd time where I am ignored. I don't like being ignored so I will start meowing louder and longer, with just a touch of whining. And if THAT doesn't work and the object of my attention is in the room I will meow in their face. Ignoring someone is rude, and I am the most important and cutest and funnest animal in the house.
