Lessons from Isabella

Isabella is C's kitten.... well, not quite a kitten. Izzy, or more often these days Bella, has sprouted since C adopted her on March 16. At that point Bella was a teeny, tiny fuzzy ball of two shades of grey with a hint of brown thrown in. She and her brother Oliver (or Ollie) traveled back to Chelsea, Michigan in a carrier laden with a blankie smelling of their mother, squealing and squirming. C's friend Gail had come along for the ride and they both attempted to calm their furry cargo on the 1.5 hour ride back to the country.

For more than a week the fur flew, as did kitty litter. No one had bothered to mention that the siblings had not yet been weaned. Anxious hours were spent making certain neither one got dehydrated or stepped on or lonely. Ollie started out to be the more vocal of the two... that has since changed with Bella being a squeaker of the highest order.

I do not profess to be 'a cat person'. I've nurtured cats, housed cats, adopted cats... yet I am not someone who has cat salt and pepper shakers.

That being said, Bella could warm the heart of a turnip. Her antics are quite laughable - which sometimes flies in the face of discipline. I saw with my own eyes her attempts at doing chin-ups on the back rungs of C's kitchen chairs, dangling ever so precariously, quite astonished she was proving to be such a feline athlete.

Miss Isabella is a furry Kodak moment. Ever photogenic, she takes full advantage of her cute quotient. Darting across the room, up a chair, onto the kitchen table, zipping down again then down to the lap, pant leg, tearing 10 feet away and then just flopping over in semi-exhaustion she finally snaps her head back as soon as C calls out: "Bella? Kumma, Bella!" Up again, she trots over to C, chirping all the way, her Siamese lineage coming through loud and clear.

Bella does everything whole-heartedly. Curling up in one lap or another, crawling up C's polar fleece to rest as a furry collar around her neck, a mini tail flicking every now and again - her restful moments. Then she has her kitty-zilla moments when she tears around willy nilly, taking a gentle swipe as she zooms through. If her food is not up to snuff, Bella attempts to cover it, just the way she manages her toilet habits.

The lessons I am learning from Bella are: do it with flair, sleep in complete trust, explore the big world and revel in love when it comes your way. Not bad for a kitty, eh?