1. Playing with string. Any kind of string, including shoelaces, zipper pulls, clothing cuffs, and of course any and all wiring in the house.
2. Trying to escape. He's already made one run for the great outdoors and gotten squashed in the door as a result.
3. Jumping on the treadmill while in use. Twice. (No, there is not a kitten-shaped splat on our back wall. But it was a close call.)
4. Running around the house like a pinball, bouncing off of anything solid, then attacking it, be it a shoe, remote control, tissue box, wall, bathtub, my foot. You name it, he's tried to kill it.
5. Climbing our legs, with or without pants. Summer’s going to be interesting.
6. Wailing incessantly when he wakes up, gets bored, or just wants to talk. And he can reach an amazing volume with those tiny lungs.
7. Snuggling up for a nap. He won’t always think of cuddling, but if you wait until he’s asleep (and, like a toddler, he’ll run for hours, then just drop like deadweight for a nap), then start petting him, he wiggles and purrs, and stretches and snuggles in and it is so cute you think you’re going to melt.
Little Valentine (our 12-year-old kitty—and who knew an 8 pound, petite little girl could seem so HUGE? J’s calling her “Gargantua,” which I’m pretty sure she resents) seems to be coping well with the change. There's been an inordinate amount of hissing (on both sides, which is so damn cute it's ridiculous), but she's also done some legitimate nose and butt sniffing. I'm guessing she'll break down by the end of the week. In the meantime, she's out and about around the house, sometimes stalking him. She's willing to cuddle with me, so she's obviously not horribly traumatized. She did swat him down when he tried to pounce on her, which was pretty funny. Mostly he dances around her on two legs, waving his tiny fists like a featherweight fighter, and she just stares him down without moving.
On a different note, I feel weird about the fact that I haven’t written or commented in awhile, and wanted to say something about that. I was all blog-all-the-time girl until about a week ago, then it’s like someone flipped a switch and I just didn’t want to. To be fair, part of this is that my husband has been home evenings (unlike previous weeks), which makes it hard to spend private time on my computer, which is in the kitchen. (And my blog is VERY private. I think he knows I have one, but he doesn’t know what its title is or what I say in it.) But part of this is that I think I just needed a break from the whole infertility thing. Anyway, I felt strange about it because I’ve developed this bond with my favorite girls out there, and I now feel like a bad friend. So I wanted to throw out my favorite line for all such occasions: “It’s not you. It’s me.”
Love you all,
And now, for his adoring fans, more McNulty: