Our house has become a tiny war zone. Oscar gallops through each room on his surprisingly loud kitten feet, punching everything he passes. Sometimes it’s a toy, sometimes it’s the dog, and sometimes it’s us. Lately he likes to swirl into a room like the Tasmanian Devil and stop right on top of my feet for a big affectionate tail-wipe, then swirl away again to pounce on the nearest object. It’s entertaining and endearing.
When he finishes a rampage, he’ll fall over on the couch or one of us, but he’s starting to spend more time behind my head on the love seat. Below is today’s morning rest period.
He’s become a dynamo of love and murder, much like his big brother. I’m both proud and slightly worried for the fate of my toes.