And his name is Oliver. He’s a kitten and he is mine (in this moment, begrudgingly). I love him so much and he’s already my best friend and all — but he’s also freaking exhausting. Don’t let that picture above fool you. He’s a terror. Today he thought it would be a good idea to jump from the top of my stairs onto my dining table below spilling the chili flakes that I was just about to put on my pizza everywhere.
This is his “who, me?” face. Yes Oliver, you. It’s always you.
His favorite toy is my hand, especially when my hand is trying to do something productive like typing or eating or carrying him to the litter box before he pees on the floor. I named him Oliver thinking that “Ollie” would be a frequently used nickname. But Ollie just doesn’t carry enough weight when, say, he’s climbing up my lace curtains. When he’s bad he’s Oliver. When he’s really bad he’s Ol-i-ver.
Oh great, here he comes. Jumping up on the couch and — what’s this? Not peeing or scratching or trying to knock down my jars of spices? He’s curling up beside me, nudging his head under my hand, purring. He knows I was talking/blogging bad about him and he’s trying to placate me. And dammit, it’s working.
Aren’t you a good wittle kitty …
If you got any kitten tips, please share them below. Preferably before Oliver wakes up from his cat nap.
P.S. 15 Comic Book-Inspired Kids Rooms over at Brit + Co