April 9, 1987
Mom took us all out to dinner tonight [for my birthday], and then we went to Suzanne's for cake. Suzanne and John and the kids gave me a black kitten. I don't have him home yet because he's only four weeks old and needs a lot of care, and I'll be at work all day tomorrow.
He has ointment for his eyes, and antibiotics, and he has to be fed milk with an eyedropper. He was either abandoned or lost; he wasn't ready to be taken from his mother, but he seems to be adjusting. He romped and played tonight. I'll bring him home after work tomorrow. I don't have a name for him yet.
April 10, 1987
I brought Webster home tonight. (At least, that's what I'm thinking of calling him. The other possibilities are Dudley and Willis.) It didn't seem to take him much time to get used to my house. I locked him in the bathroom while Mom and I went out to dinner.
After I got home he was ready to play. He explored a little, and he played on the rug some, but mostly he wanted to climb around on the couch and chew on my hands.
April 11, 1987
I stayed home with Webster all day. He slept a lot, but when he was ready to play he wouldn't leave me alone, and he got really rough. I've got to find something for him to sink his claws and teeth into, other than my skin.
April 17, 1987
John and Suzanne went out tonight and I got to stay with the kids. I took Webster over with me in his carrying case, and he played with Sassy, the kitten Suzanne got Tuesday. At least, I guess they played; it looked more like wrestling a lot of the time.
April 27, 1987
Webster scratched me on the face tonight for the second time in two days. It took about fifteen minutes of pressure to stop the bleeding. I shut him in his (my) room to keep from killing him.
May 19, 1987
This cat is taking years off my life. I can't relax for a minute when he's awake, and even when he's asleep I find waste baskets he's tipped over and cat litter he's sprayed all over the floor. I can't walk without being attacked, I can't open a door (even a cupboard or the refrigerator) without having him race through it, I can't put a drink down without his trying to tip it over, and I can't keep anything within his reach without risking having it scattered all over the house.
He chews on electrical cords, he sharpens his claws on the couch instead of the scratching post, and he tries to climb everything — including the walls, the doors to my TV stand, and the back of the microwave cart. My blood pressure is a mess.
May 25, 1987
Last night was the first time I locked Webster out of the bedroom all night. I moved his food and litter box into the kitchen and enjoyed a decent night's rest. I did hear him scratching at the door and crying around 5:00, but he banged into the furnace making quite a racket and wasn't heard from again after that.