Then earlier today I posted the following on Twitter:
“Interesting. Kit will run to the door when the UPS man parks at the bottom of our driveway, but not when the postman does.”

Because I watched the postman pull up precisely where the UPS truck parked, and she watched the postman, but never got down from her perch in the window.

The, a little later, there was a knock on the door.

The UPS man had a package addressed to Kit. (?!)

Yup. Treats for Kit.

Gift from Eric. Gift message: Miao.

So did she like them?

Yes. Yes she did like them. In fact, she already knocked the container on the floor in hopes of getting more.

The only unfortunate thing is it was the late afternoon UPS guy who does not park in front of our house, so Kit was caught all unawares at his arrival.

There was a whole lotta crinkling going on.

“In the flowers? You think I was in the flowers? Why would you think that?”

Just a note: We do, in fact, have heat in the house. Not that you could tell by the way those two are cuddled up together.

Or the way Kit is currently, pitifully, leaning against my legs, as if attempting to warm her poor, cold self against any heat source she can find.

“What? Me? I wouldn’t attack the Christmas tree! No way!”

“Pay no mind to the furry gift under the tree.”

Yes, Kit really is that much smaller than Kat.

“I have no idea why I keep falling off Grandmom’s ottoman.”

We’d gone to the Stonewall Jackson craft fail Labor Day weekend with my parents, and on the way home, my dad wanted to stop at a pet supply store in Clarksburg to check out their fish supplies.

Michael and I wandered around the store, and found in the back corner a set of cages, one cage had a ferret, but the cage about it had kittens.

“Someone abandoned them outside,” the salesperson said. “I think they’re only about four weeks old.”

“We don’t need another cat,” I said, “but thanks.”

“But look at this one!” said Michael. “Look at its face! Look how cute!”

“But we don’t need another cat. We already have a cat.”

“That really is an adorable cat,” said my mother.

In the end, I admitted defeat and we brought had ourselves a new kitten.

Did I mention the kittens were above a ferret cage? They were. She stunk for the first couple weeks we had her. Kat hated her, and hissed and got a big fat bushy tail and generally wanted nothing to do with her. Until he suddenly decided that maybe she was okay.

Of course, as soon as we took her to the vet, Kat hated her again when we got back, until he–again–decided she was okay. This has happened any time she’s gone to the vet alone. She comes back, and Kat wants nothing to do with her for a couple days. Then suddenly he’s over it.

Because she was so young when we got her, she has issues. She likes to lick, but mostly she has this thing about paper. Any kind of paper. She’ll stand on the paper and then dig and dig and dig and dig–never using her claws, just rubbing her paws back and forth.

And she’s also obsessed with water glasses, believing they need to be tipped over.

But she’s sweet natured and affectionate, which combined with her cuteness has saved her when she’s dumped a large glass of water on the floor or furniture or my head and three in the morning.

Kat has shoved himself into the corner, so it looks like we’ve placed him in time out.

Here is Kit making herself at home on my bed.

Apparently it IS Kat’s window seat, and Kit isn’t really wanted.

I can’t decide if she looks extremely lazy, or slightly dead.

Help! Help! I’m being repressed!