How I Became a Kitten Supervisor

 

I am Gryzka, Supreme Chair Owner, Curtain Climber Emeritus, and reluctant foster sibling. Today I announce a temporary family member. Her name is Lotka. She is two months old. She is also a malfunctioning squirrel with whiskers.

Lotka arrived like a harbinger of chaos, carried in by the Human with that look that means, “Be patient, Gryzka.” I was patient once. In 2023. Briefly.

Lotka believes my tail is a toy, my ears are invitations, and my dignified naps are optional public events. She ricochets off furniture like a caffeinated comet. A true hellion. She has no respect for personal space, gravity, or the ancient laws of Cat.

She bites nothing gently. She fears nothing. She attempts parkour on the bookcase. She meows at shadows and then attacks them for answering. When she sleeps — finally — she does it upside down, snoring, paws twitching as if plotting my downfall.

The Human says, “She’s so small.” Lies. Inside that tiny body lives hemlock levels of danger — to toes, to dignity, to the concept of peace.

Still… sometimes she curls up near me, warm and purring like a broken motor. I pretend not to notice. I definitely do not groom her head. That would be weakness.

She is temporary, they say. We shall see.

Until then, I guard my chair, my tail, and my sanity.

Barely.