“It really is all about me.”
I was a little concerned yesterday. Everyone likes a lovey kissy kitten, but a ten-week old kitten is typically a tornado and not a loverboy. He must have been tired, hungry, traumatized and took yesterday to recover because he woke up last night to play solo hockey in the tub with a tiny plastic whiffle ball.
Today he’s been busy destructing my bathroom, but that’s what I designed it to be used for, aside from my own unimportant personal use.
We played a little ball in the sink where the light is a little better and he managed to keep the ball moving. I think it’s funny to compare his size to, for instance, Giuseppe, who fills the sink half full without any help. G and Jelly Bean together nearly fill it to the top.
But today he owns the sink.
Of course, most of my photos look like this.
Proving again that I really am just a big cat toy, he discovered my toes first thing this morning; this reminds me of God giving Adam the spark of life from Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel Ceiling, and indeed a little claw in my toe did give me a spark of life.
Look closely at his hip—that little gray spot isn’t a shadow, it’s actually an small area of black fur. I thought at first it was dirt, along with the black spots on his nose, but he has black freckles and that small area of black hairs mixed with the orange. That doesn’t make him a tri-color, that’s actually called “chimeric color” because, in a way, it rubbed off from the kitten next to him when they were in the womb.