June Bug, the new kitty, is mad at me for flinging her off the bed last night. By extension, so is my wife. But here’s how it went at 2AM:

Cat sees my ankle under the blanket, watches it, then pounces on it and bites it. I laugh and say stop that, kitty. I go back to sleep.

Cat sees my knee under the blanket, watches it, then pounces on it and bites it. I laugh and say stop that, kitty. I go back to sleep.

Cat sees my middle under the blanket, watches it, then pounces on it and 🐈🪽💨.

June Bug is starting to relax into her new home.

Today I learned you can’t just go adopt a cat. I figured you’d show up, find one you get along with, and then they’d put it in a bag or whatever for you and you’d take it home. Nope. There’s a lot more to it than that.

That feels a little counterproductive. Sure, you don’t want any weirdo to come in and leave with a living animal. At the same time, I’d think it would be a little easier and not require multiple visits and interviews. It’s a cat, not an infant.

Jort is sucking a blanket and making biscuits. #caturday

Jort is stair-ing at you.

Chill, like Jort.

I was making the bed while the cat laid on it, surfing the waves of bedding as I shifted things around carefully to avoid chasing her off. Then it struck me that I’ll never be able to make the dog into the bed again, which was one of her favorite things. That hit unexpectedly hard.

Miss you, girl.

When we got this kitty, she was darn near feral. Now she won’t leave me alone.

If the cupboard door is open, Jort will sense it and come running from across the house so she can climb in among the towels.

A friend’s 6 month old Maine coon cat is already enormous. He’s such an outgoing and fun kitty to play with.