At just under eight weeks and one pound, Finnigan is the picture of good health. He's mastered the fine art of climbing onto the couch, is completely litter box-trained, and, as of last night; can finally navigate the staircase in both directions (except for the occasional tumble down the final two stairs, for some odd reason).
He was the hit of The Teenager's team dinner, charming even the cat-haters in the group (they do exist!) and, more recently; has learned how to defend himself against being crushed by Hugh's nocturnal acrobatics (note to other cats in a similar sleeping situation: claws in the back work wonders in getting a large man to roll back to his side of the bed).
Amazingly, the kitten has not drawn blood, once. None of us have reported even so much as a scratch, despite the kitten's recent foray into stalking our heels as we walk past furniture under which he is hiding. He also has an adorable habit of tucking himself underneath our chins as we hold him, with the added (and adorable) habit of gently patting our faces with his paw while purring, contentedly.
He's a keeper, we're thinking.
And, on to non-cat related news.
Yeah, I got nothing.
That monthly newsletter is starting to look better by the minute.
Yep. I'm still adorable. Thanks for noticing.
Let me get this straight; she won't let you in the house? Dude, you should try being more adorable. I'm serious.