Hubs and I picked them up from the Humane Society. They're said to be litter mates -- brothers -- although how and why they look so different is anyone's guess. We're told it's possible they could have different fathers.
My kittens' foster mother tells me that their mother was hit by a car and had to be euthanized because she was too badly injured. So really, I feel like their adoptive mother, even though, yeah, I know, I sort of am their adoptive mother, but really, they're little orphans and now I'm their mommy.
Destroyer 2, aka SimonI'm accustomed to hearing calamitous crashes from another room, and thinking nothing of it. I have accepted the fact that these cats will destroy my every possession.
The two destroyers play a game I like to call "I kill you," where they bite on each others' necks. The one doing the biting seems to be saying: "See, here is what it is like when I kill you." And the other often lies limp, as if to say, "I see."
This morning, Simon scratched the shit out of my knee, and this afternoon, his little destroyer twin Murray scratched the shit out of my boob. It's never malicious, they're just trying to hang on so they can be close to me. I decided to try cutting their nails today. So far, I've succeeded in cutting exactly one of Murray's nails and none of Simon's. Yeah.
The Destroyers have a couple more games. One is called, "Fuck, you stink!" and the other one is, "Where have you been all my life?" The stink game involves vigorous licking of one's brother's stinky parts. And the "Where have you been..." game is less of a game and more of a cuteness fiesta wherein the cats cuddle each other until you feel like you want to tear your eyeballs out from the cuteness overload.