A Sprout-date

It's been quite some time since the kitten got more than a passing mention. I decided that talking about writing my book (which might have been all I did today) would defeat the purpose of putting that obsessive energy toward the book and away from other people. I also realize that I kept the kitten because I wanted to tell the story of how I found him because I thought it was adorable. And I didn't want to be the blogger who allowed the kitten who found her to be put down. So His Sproutness found a home in part due to all of you. So you deserve some detailed information about him, yes?

Of course.

I can't decide what I think about the little fellow. I sometimes consider him as a Screwtape-type character. Superior, dignified, disdainful of all he sees. But then he prances by carrying one of Chienne's squeaky squirrel toys and the mental image falls apart.

"I don't think he knows he's a cat." Dad said when I was home, watching the little guy wrestle with a dog ten times his size.

"He knows." I responded, thinking of how he cleans himself, retreats to places of safety when strangers come around, sleeps during the day and plays at night (this I don't like). "He's just adapted to his new environment." He does play with squeaky toys, comes when he's called (if it's only me around and he deduces there's minimal risk of having to go in the car), takes food from my hand and eschews grace for speed when eating.

He still sleeps in his room during the day, but will select an upper corner of my bed at night, nuzzling my fingers when they appear from under the pillow. He approaches me often to be petted, though Chienne gets terribly jealous when that happens. He lets me clip his claws, though he's not fond of the process. He prefers crispy treats to soft ones.

He enjoys my parents, though he does bite them. I flick him when he bites me - firmly rebuking the act - and he's stopped. I reached to pet him yesterday and he opened his mouth to bite, then licked me once instead. I found him a crispy treat.

Both my parents are scarred from his attempts to play though as they refuse to scold him when he bites them. "What if he stops liking us?" Mom asked. "He already hides from everyone else! And I like to pet him!"

Little One loves him dearly, favoring cats to dogs in general. Over the week we spent at home, he grew used to Mom or me holding him still while she gently stroked his coat. Sometimes she would muss his fur and he'd busily smooth it back into place. She also would hurry to take his toys from any of us so she could whip them around with a speed that was equally frightening and amusing. While he ran away at first, he learned to duck and cover and would play with her a lot. On the last day we were home, he climbed on her lap and allowed her to shower him with affection.

My favorite of their times together? She would come in the house and yell, "Prout!" Then, raising the pitch of her voice, and crouching down, she'd call "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty..." Then again - still high pitched - "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty..." After waiting mere seconds, she stands up throws her hands up in exasperation and shouts, "Come on, 'Prout!"

It's delightful.

He didn't come once.

All in all, he's a funny, sweet, pretty little guy. I really love him very much and I'm glad he's around. So I'll thank you all for making me a better person and inadvertently convincing me to keep the little kitten I found outside my house.