Kitty still harbors doubts about us, even when he's letting me pat him.
He'll purr like crazy, and then turn around and stare at me.
I think he's noticed I'm not Patricia.
But I am working hard to become an acceptable substitute.
There's behind the toilet, now improved by a considerable amount of kitty litter.
Kitten is an enthusiastic burier of things.
There's in the shelf where the towels normally live.
Towels now live in the laundry room, because kitty needs a fortress.
And there's this, the bottom shelf behind the door.
Kitty's moustache is seriously lopsided.
But he does, really, have lovely round eyes.
And he is desperately soft and glossy.
I will try to get a better picture when he next is feeling more tame than cautious.
He still hisses at you when he feels pressured.
But then he'll notice that you have a hand, and he'll start rubbing against it and purring.
And teething, hard.
And he seriously likes words that begin with Bs.
So we are calling him baby boy, and baubau, and Mister B, and other things that may yet turn into a name.
He's going to the vet Tuesday morning for check up.