kittenphobia

We got the kitten, which has been tentatively named Turtle, to the barn! She seems to be going through a total personality transformation, from semi-feral fear ball, to bouncy happy runs-up-to-meet-us fluffy cakes. She’s downright…kittenish! And she’s out of the junk heap and into the goat barn, where, as I predicted, she seems much happier.

But.

The goats are TERRIFIED of her! Fancy in particular. You haven’t lived until you have watched a fifty pound goat go totally apeshit trying to get away from five ounces of kitten. Fancy peeks her goaty head out of the stall, wide eyed, turning this way and that, her nostrils going crazy as she tries to track the little fluffy ball bouncing all around the place. Did I mention we made a kitten toy out of a clown nose, some string, and a stick? She loves it. But anyway, Fancy simply will not step one foot out of her side of the barn, even with me pulling on her collar as hard as I can, not for anything. Not even sunflower seeds, her favorite. NO WA-A-A-A, she insists. There is a mad BE-E-E-AST in there who wants to E-E-EAT me! And then the kitten bounces over and Fancy rears up, frantically trying to get her hooves away, flailing around like the insane-o goat she is. It would be hilarious if it didn’t mean I can’t get her on the milkstand without Paul picking her up and putting her there, which she hates.

It’s a work in progress.

And it isn’t like I don’t understand. I feel exactly the same way about cockroaches. But still.

I totally did not see this coming.