We’ve got a tiny new kitten.  She’s half Manx, semi-longhaired, tortoise shell and ridiculously cute in a wild, deranged sort of way.  A little whirlwind.  We’ve had her five days and she hasn’t quite gotten a name yet.  The list is at 20 possibilities and growing.  When she was wordlessly placed on my chest my first impression was of a tiny scruffy hyena-monkey.  (That hasn’t changed much.)  As I’m alone much of the day while Nkole is at work, and am greatly restricted in my mobility, she surprised me with what she hoped would be a sweet little companion. 

Five days in, the kitty has indeed proven to be quite affectionate, sometimes aggressively so.  She’s getting used to her strength and her claws and teeth.  So the fact that I’m lying down means I’ve got to learn a little cat psychology and set a few boundaries.  I can’t say I’m much of a disciplinarian, but I feel within my rights to draw the line at claws-out face climbing. 

Much of the time she’s pressed up tight beside me or nestled snugly in the crook of my elbow.  But her favourite position is curled up on my chest or perched confidently on my shoulder as I rest on my side.  This must be her Manxiness.  We’ve read that they are powerful jumpers, and are often to be found perched at the highest point in any room.  For now, though, she prefers to stay very close and warm.