I have had two pets in my lifetime. The first was a rare African frog that arrived in the mail, a surprise present from my grandparents. The second was a red-backed salamander (that I christened "Salamandy" if I recall correctly) that I had found under a log in my friend's backyard. Salamandy passed on long ago. We gave Sanchez the frog to a friend, after finding him resiliently alive after nearly 8 years.

It was not until I moved in with my third host family here in Belgium that I experienced life with more traditional pets. Barely had I crossed the threshold when Ipod, the infinitely friendly chocolate Lab, showered me with aggressive kisses. I can count on his eager burst of affection when I wake up in the morning, when I leave for school, when I come back from school and at random intervals throughout the evening.

The cat, Apple (affectionately known as Titiboochook or just Titiboo), initiated me into the family by dragging a claw across my forearm deep enough to draw blood. Though Apple is introverted and rather moody, he and Ipod have a flowering bromance.

Our furry friends enliven life at home. When not curled up in a pile of warm laundry, Titiboo enjoys hunting birds and small rodents... then tearing them apart and scattering the pieces about the house for us to stumble upon unexpectedly. Ipod, for his part, is on a constant quest to be scratched. Despite his substantial bulk, he has proved to be an energetic running partner.

Such was the household order, with each dog, cat and human fulfilling a specific role in the family. Then an event occurred that would change this paradigm forever.

My host father loves cats. Shortly before I arrived, he had lost Biff, a regal Maine coon cat — as it turned out — and a dear friend. As fortune would have it, we found a woman in the adjacent town whose cat had just mothered a healthy litter of kittens with a Maine coon. We reserved one as a late birthday present for my host father.

Ari Snider is a Belfast Area High School junior studying in Belgium through Rotary International. He currently lives with a host family in Waterloo. His discoveries and adventures abroad have been the subject of his blog Belfast/Belgique

We visited the clawed furballs last weekend. The kittens were but 6 weeks old, and though the woman said we could take ours home, my host mother had declared in no uncertain terms that he needed at least another two weeks of motherly care. Knowing that my two younger host siblings as well as my host father would push to bring the mini coon cat home that very day, she made me promise to support her in abstaining.

We succeeded in our goal of not bringing one kitten home that day. We brought two.

Fitch and Bulle sleep in a nest of towels in the bathroom. Nervous upon arrival, they have quickly become courageous explorers of their new environment. Fitch and Bulle enjoy spirited paw-dueling, approaching as close to Ipod as they dare before skittering back under the couch and just being adorable.

Ipod has handled the change well. Despite his puppyish energy and bearlike dimensions, he is a very gentle being at heart. He allows his wide-eyed cousins to climb on him, and is more interested in nabbing their food than anything else. Titiboo, for his part, has grown sulkier. However, he too is gentle with his feline competition.

Climbing is an integral element of the kittens' new exploration regime. I choked on my breakfast yesterday when Bulle sunk four sets of claws into the flesh on my ankle, then continued to scale my calf and thigh in the same fashion. Sporadic fits of agony have become commonplace at the dinner table as Fitch followed eagerly in his sister's paw prints.

Last night after supper, Bulle climbed into my lap and nuzzled herself against my stomach. I cupped my furry little sister in the palm of my hand, and she slumped her head upon my forearm. Though her claws-out ascent had nearly brought tears to my eyes, stroking the silky smooth coat of a warm kitten as she falls asleep in your arms is worth the pain.