Maybe we should change our last name to "Doolittle"

So, in old news I'm still sick. Coughing, blowing massive amounts of phlegm out of my nose, and feeling generally crappy. I bounce back and forth between the bedroom and the guest room depending on how much complaining Adam does about the noise.

In new news, last weekend we stopped by a Saving Paws foster home and took a look at a couple younger, more sociable cats thinking if we got one who actually acknowledged our existence perhaps it could lure the other two cats out from their hiding spots. So we chose John, a 5 month-old ball of energy. We modified his name a bit since I wasn't altogether comfortable having a cat named John. (Ahem.) So his official name is Jean Claude (or clawed, if you prefer the obvious pun) but we generally call him "JC", "Squeaky", or "hey you, quit attacking my feet." He is as much a normal kitten as Ted and Conner are not.



He runs around with abandon, attacking everything that moves and even some things that don't. He meows pathetically and begs for your undivided attention. He jumps into bed with us and purrs with enthusiam when his tummy is rubbed. He loves jumping everywhere he's not supposed to be. We now have to shut our bedroom door at night to keep him from attacking us when we're sleeping and if you forget to close the bathroom door he'll waltz in and try to jump up onto your lap or play in the sink.

So far Ted and Conner seem to be warming up to him. At first I was afraid perhaps they'd be offended by the addition of another cat. I think JC scares them a bit sometimes but they're starting to interact with him and they're definitely out and about more often. Maybe one of these days they'll let us pet them.