My cats taught me a serious lesson.

Jake took me to get a kitten last year, for my birthday, because I'm obsessed with cats and wouldn't take no for an answer.

She was the only orange one, both in looks and personality. The rest sat still, no sound..no life really..and Jake of course begged me to choose one of the black boring ones..but I wanted the fireball.

And I sure got a fireball.

I named her Gemma and boy was she a brat. She peed everywhere - on my pillow, on our comforter, on our beautiful faux-suede orange couch - and I daily threatened to end her life and/or punch her in the head. Whichever I felt at the time.

Nothing changed her. I gave her treats. I changed her stupid poop box. Gave her stupid food. Scratched her stupid punched-up head (even then, she was only reeling me in enough so that she could strike me with her evil claws or chew on my fingers with her evil teeth).

She thought she was a lioness. We thought we wanted to abandon her on the side of a road.

Approximately 1 year and 3 months later, in came Earl, a tiny impractically adorable and impulsively-picked grey baby kitten. Yup..Gemma & Earl. Why, you ask, would we bring in another one of these horrid, unpleasant, couch-ruining creatures? The answer is simple. He was the most freakin' cutest thing we'd ever seen practically ever in our entire lives.

So he came home and guess what he did? He poohed in all the wrong places, including on our laps (and during one unfortunate encounter, on Auntie Caitlin's finger) as he was mesmorizing us with his teensy grey precious wittle Chinese kitten baby eyes.

But, being the self-punishing people that we are, we kept the little punk. So we now had a pee-er and a pooh-er. Dumb. Did I mention that we already have a 3-year-old who takes care of both of these categories pretty thoroughly as it is??

Gemma hated Earl. She wouldn't come downstairs unless it was to hiss her life away at the little grey rat. The closest she ever got to him was to attempt to punch him in the eye every once in awhile, despite my rebukes.

Now, though, I think I can speak for everyone when I say that we're all glad we stuck it out. Sure, Caitlin felt a little taken advantage of when she learned she'd been used as a human stool, but she still loves the lil' guy and guess what?? He doesn't leak out of his sphincter anymore!! And, perhaps even more miraculously, Gemma has taken a pretty convincing hiatus from peeing all over our otherwise dry lives, and it's been weeks since I've sustained a domesticated-lion-related injury!)

And furthermore, the felines love each other. Gemma eventually warmed up (I'm not sure when the change of heart took place, but one day she gave up hissing..maybe for Kitty Lent?) and now she'll just lie there, letting this little ball of grey waste his day away trying to catch her fast-flicking, matronly tail. Sometimes, sure, she's unable to resist the urge to pelt the kid (one time I caught her tackling Earl while he was mid-jump, snatching him from the air and reminding him who really owns this house and the litterbox) but ultimately it's clear to everyone that knows her that she loves this new addition, and that we've finally found the answer to her bladder control problem.

Watching them one day inspired me. If cats can reconcile, can love and appreciate each other despite differences in age, size, personality, and behavior.. what the heck is our problem? Gemma could have continued fighting it, but it's as if she recognized that Earl wasn't going anywhere, and changed her attitude as if she knew that it was the best way to handle this unexpected and somewhat unpleasant situation. We're human and how often do we get this right?

And people wonder why I like cats so much.. psshhh. They make more sense than we do most of the time.