Mike and Jenny recently had to let go of one of their kitties because they couldn’t handle so many at once, so we took Hannah Montana into our home (and swiftly started calling her Stevie).   She loves to cuddle, and freaking spaz out, usually one right after the other in rapid succession.  At bedtime our toes have become chew toys, and our faces are way more interesting in the dark apparently because she gets all up in our personal space while we sleep.

Ringo didn’t accept her at first, and was a big jerk when we brought her home.  He hissed and slapped at her while she explored the apartment.  We layed the smack down on him more than a couple times.  But now he tolerates her, has stopped following her around everywhere, and hasn’t hissed in a while.  Last night they played tag, he chased her into the bedroom then she chased him into the living room, then back and forth and back and forth.

Ringo is almost a year old, and he’s beginning to mature.  He used to like to cuddle, and absolutely hated being locked anywhere alone.  It was horrible the first few weeks we had him, he screamed as loud as he could because we locked him in the bathroom.  He probably thought we were abandoning him.

But now that he’s older he’s changed.  He’d rather nap on the sofa alone, and if you touch him he gives you the evil eye.   He meows when we leave the room, because he can’t find us.  We have to yell his name so he knows where we are and he comes in and wants face rubs.  Instead of us locking him in the bathroom, he shuts himself in there now.  It’s like he fells the need to get away from us and be in his comfy place.  Maybe.

He also has a new game, tag.  Except he doesn’t play it whole heartedly like we used to when we were kids.   He’ll run up behind you and jump on your leg then run away.  If you chase him he’ll stop running and look at you weird.  And then when you tag him, he doesn’t seem to want to play anymore.  Like the kid that gets mad when he loses and storms away with his ball so nobody can play anymore.

This is our little buddy Ringo/Ocean/Kitty-Kitty/Renoir . . . whatever really, he doesn’t come to anything we call him. He’s about 11 weeks old, Persian/Siamese mix, very curious, and doesn’t have room in that little body of his for fear. Last night he got in a fight with a pillow and lost. His favorite toy is a Trader Joe’s bag.

His right eye is a bit messed up, from being sick, and it’s squinted alot. He’s our pirate cat. I put him on my shoulder and we walk around like we’re tough and talk trash in the mirror. And then he goes to sleep. Cats are supposed to sleep alot, 18 hours on average, and he probably gets that much. Gee wiz he sleeps alot.