Struggle Strategy: Laughter Kittens (Part Two)

And I commend joy… Ecclesiastes 8:15

When Littles tore his ACL for a second time, I thought to myself: self, you know what would really make it easy to juggle another major surgery and a large man-child recovering on the couch and weeks of PT? Kittens.

And do you know who was crazy but also right (and also still crazy)? I was. Yup.

But let’s rewind.

A little over a year ago, when our geriatric bag of feline bones, Oswald, went to the great litter box in the sky, the Man and I started joking about getting a kitten for our not-a-pitbull Royal. Royal, who is A LARGE MIXED BREED (I’m making sure base housing can hear me in case we ever have to move back), is very affectionate and was getting along great with Oswald (before he kicked the bucket) but was barely tolerated by Blythe, who tends to be of more discerning taste (as in, she hates everyone but our immediate human family). When the Man and I kept running across videos of pitbulls and kittens (which then bred more videos of pitbulls and kittens), we began to feel as though Royal might just be that dog who needed a kitten of her own.

But who gets a pet for their pet? Not us. We are too rational and grounded and mature for such a thing.

Except I happened to share this “joke” with a friend whose sister had a kitten up for adoption, and she thought I was serious (or she wanted me to be serious or maybe I was serious but also in denial). So she shared my contact info with her sister, who then spammed me with adorable videos of a precocious little stripey kitten… and before I knew it, the Man and I were locked in a game of chicken where we kept expecting the other person to be the Adult and say no…which just…didn’t…really…pan out at all.

By the time we knew we were—whoops—adding to our family (which, honestly, is how most of our familial additions worked out), the friend’s sister, who was driving the kitten to us from a different state (I can’t make this stuff up—adopting an Alabamian kitten would’ve just been too easy), sent me a video of another kitten they’d just had abandoned at their veterinary office. She said, “Hey, since I’m heading your way, do you know anyone else who needs a kitten?” She then proceeded to send me a picture of a tiny fluff of grey fur.

And then, I’m telling you—it was either perimenopause or an out of body experience—I couldn’t stop seeing both those kittens running around our home and playing with Royal. Did I need a kitten? Did I need two kittens? No…not really…but also kind of?

Spoiler alert: we got both kittens.

We got both kittens, and they have destroyed our furniture, and Blythe absolutely hates them (still), and I now have the kitten’s litter box in my pantry and Blythe’s litter box in what was previously a bastion of adult sanctuary: the master bath. Every time Blythe gets a chance, she hunts the kittens down like she’s reenacting a National Geographic documentary where she is the fierce, feline hunter, and the kittens are the hapless prey. There has been no bloodshed, but the kittens pee themselves every time she manages to get one of them, so there’s been a lot of body fluid. And fur. Lots of fur tufts.

But I can’t find it in myself to regret bringing both kittens into our home. Yes, Royal has absolutely adored them. And they seem to have a soft spot for her. But honestly, I would keep those two kittens forever and forgive them pretty much anything just for the way they cuddled up with Alex while he was waiting for and recovering from surgery. Anything that makes a fifteen year old smile after re-tearing his ACL is a win in my book.

I admit to getting a little teary eyed digging back through my photos to find this picture. And also, both Alex and the kittens have seriously bulked up since this picture.

Additionally, both kittens have continued to bring laughter into our home, and that is a win. And although I wasn’t laughing when Rocky (during her post-spay quarantine in the bathroom) pulled the drain stopper out of the sink and systematically dropped almost a dozen of my earrings down the drain, one by one, it did also provide plumbing experience for Josh and the kids, so…silver lining?

Also, I will say, regarding Blythe’s ongoing vendetta against the kittens, it has given me a real life example of what it looks like to have sin crouching at the door, waiting to devour us. Theology is practically walking around in our home wearing fur and whiskers.

But why am I telling you this? Isn’t this supposed to be a series on dealing with life when things are going off the rails? There are not supposed to be kittens on the rails! (Also, I’d like to point out to everyone that my blog series kick off post was almost a month ago, so I’m really killing it over here.)

But the question we started the series with was how we deal with tough situations, and one of the best ways to endure in the hard moments, I’ve found, is to find what there still is to laugh about. And the kittens are a prime example of that.

There are times in life when we can’t imagine being able to laugh again, times when we are so overwhelmed that our senses of humor seem to have taken a permanent vacation, times when joy feels like a pipe dream. But, honestly, those times are often far more rare than we allow. And it can be a choice to welcome in laughter. A choice to look for joy in the chaos and busyness and struggle.

But you’ll find it, if you’re looking.

You might find laughter from the friend who sends you the best dumb jokes just when your depression is getting the better of you (and an eyeroll after your snort laugh doesn’t negate the laughter). You might find laughter by listening in on your kids’ conversations, especially the ones where they acknowledge that they should maybe listen to you more…like possibly 50% of the time. You might find laughter by trying to convince your husband that eating coffee ice cream is just as effective as taking cold medicine. You might find laughter by trying to roofie your cat with CBD gummies in the hopes that she will stop trying to murder your kittens…who knows!

There are a lot of options out there for ways to laugh when we’re feeling overwhelmed by life. Admittedly, some of them require humor that edges towards dark (which may be your jam!), but many of them just call for a willingness to not take ourselves too seriously. To not buy into the lie that everything is horrible and nothing is worthy of our laughter. To not give in to the easy choice to feel sorry for ourselves.

Fair warning, though, once upon a few months ago, we looked for laughter and ended up with a pair of kittens. Just so you know.