Elphie is laying across my lap right now, rocking her front feet back in forth waiting for my thigh to start lactating. I relish these moments of "nice kitten." Recently, Elph has decided that she needs to run through every door that opens. That was funny when she'd make it into the bathroom, or occasionally all the way into the bedroom and under the bed. It's not so funny when I come home at 10:00 knowing I need to hold my bag at calf level so that she doesn't have an easy escape route into the great outdoors.
She's the size of a real cat now, but still weighs practically nothing. Perhaps that's just a matter of perspective, since all I have to compare her to are the two moo-cats. She chases her brothers all over the apartment, but I can tell they both think she's the best thing ever.
She also likes to wait until we turn out the lights and stumble blindly toward the bedroom at night and then lay right in the middle of the floor. She's actually pretty easy to pick out if you squint and really look for her - she's the black hole. She doesn't lurk in the shadows, she is the shadows.
Alas, while I was typing this, Elphie moved on and Milo jumped up. If I don't start petting him soon, he'll start gnawing on my wrist.
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