This had something to do with it:
This is Eli. He's 11 weeks old, and the newest tenant of Chez Watrous. The little 9oz ball of fun decided at 4am that he'd had enough of this sleeping thing and could we please take him out of the bathroom mew, mew, mew. Thinking perhaps he was lonely and missing his brother, we brought him into bed with us to see if he would go back to sleep. Nope. He was just looking for a party and spent the next 45 minutes on my head, down my shirt and sitting on Mike's face. So here I am. There will be napping later.
Ms. Chloe is not happy in the least bit. Despite the fact that she has 10lbs on him, she still thinks that he could hurt her if he touched her. Or at least mess up her aura and ruin her chi. She has taken to bed and refuses to leave. The world just isn't safe for one so delicate as she.
We adopted Eli yesterday from a local animal rescue. He and his brother were born to apartment dwellers, and they were the last of the litter to not find homes. The landlord told the original owners to get rid of them pronto, so the rescue stepped in and helped. He's an incredibly sweet little thing and has a slightly unhealthy love of my boobs. In case you're wondering, he did not escape the long winded naming trend of all Watrous cats, I assure you. His full name is Eli Gideon Rainier Watrous.
So here we are. Two exhausted parents, one hissy sister and a little man ready to party. God's way of prepping us for the arrival of Little MO. Or at least our own sitcom.
(Taking clear pictures of him is like trying to dig a hole on the beach without it filling with water.)
