I realized today that my adorable little 10 week old kitten is now 15 weeks old and hence, no longer an adorable little kitten. Sadly, he is now a tween, a mini-cat.
He has reached the age where indoor cats must start learning manners. I find myself saying things like "No, you may not jump up on the table and shove your nose into Ezra's cereal bowl while he's eating," or "No, you may not piss on the towels or in the bathtub just because your litter box is not as pristine as you like," and "No, you may not run out the front door as soon as it opens." Then there's my personal favorite, "No, you may not wake me up at 4 am by biting my ankles."
Doozer spends most of his day by either napping or terror-assing around the house, by either sleeping peacefully or ambushing everyone who crosses his path. Currently, his favorite hiding place is under the dresser in the foyer. Yesterday, I was hamstrung. If he were a tiger and I were a gazelle, I would have been tiger food.
I have to say, I love this little kitty and we are so glad he is part of our family. He fits in so well that it feels like we have always had him. The hardest part so far is that he seems to like Isaac more than he likes me.
That's okay, though.