And so today, December 14th, and after two days of anticpication, it finally happened.

And spectacularly.

El gato anaranjado climbed and felled the christmas tree, sending baubles and stars and discoballs across the living room floor in a cacophony of sound and light. Added bonus for cat? He go me out of bed to investigate.

He was pleased. He had done well.

It's hard to remember that he's less than a year old sometimes. That he's still a wee laddie, with unsupressed wee kitty instincts: Hunt, pounce, mame. My legs are (barely) living, scarred, walking testament to that.

I have researched all kinds of ways to stop him from biting and scratching. Seems that the truth is that he well never stop - the secret is to channel it. Make sure that he does that - which is all healthy behaviour, but not on my leg. Or hand. Or cheek.

I was advised to get a litle plant sprayer and to encourage him to play aggressively with me while I had it so that, as soon as he got too agressive, I could squirt him between the eyes.

I have issues with that. Why would I encourage him to bite me, simply so that I could squirt him? As fun as that may sound (and it is), it seems a little... um... instigative (is that even a word?)...

Still, after a few ankle attacks (see here for all the gory details), I found it necessary to carry said squirter with me wherever I needed to go - just in case.

Result = leg injuries down by multiple percentile.

But I have also learned never to underestimate the wee wiley beastie. He soon put the sequences together and realised that he could get away with shit when the water bottle was not in hand. Luckily - the leg slashing appears to have been cured. **frantically touches wood**

He's on to bigger and better things. Christmas trees. Which is OK. It's kitty behaviour.

On The Apprentice last week, Kelly was asked by one of the CEO's whether "as a leader he prefers to be feared or liked". Where do you draw the line with kitties? I think I have wee Wallace's unconditional adoration. Every evening, regardless of the amount of spray he has taken on the noggin, he wanders over and cuddles and purrs. And plays - increasingly more gently.

I personally fear the day that the water has no effect. Then it's taser time.

Ah this parenting. What a wonderful thing it is.

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