It turns out that accepting a cat in your driveway is way different than accepting him in your house. I brought the kitten downstairs to watch a DVD with Powder and I. Powder went into a funk that she has yet to recover from. She first stared in disbelief even though I was still petting her. Then she hissed but didn’t attack. Then she went upstairs to pout. Then she demanded to be let outside. She has been laying on the garage door (it is up and she sleeps on the flat part near the ceiling) ever since. She is the absolute picture of wounded dignity. I talk to her and she will occasionally look at me but she is not lowering herself enough to make up. But I think she’ll be ok with time. And treats.

The kitten on the other hand is doing great. He’s figured out litterboxes and found kitten sized places to sleep in the bedroom and bathroom. My mother suggested calling him Zane. Like in Zane Grey (Kitten). That’s because we were on our way back from an outing when we saw his sign. The only piece of tour-guide trivia I knew about where we were involved Zane Grey so I repeated the fact several times in order to feel like I was playing a good tour-guide. I’m calling him that until it either sticks or gets replaced by something better.