But it's kind of inevitable that if you keep window shopping, someday you'll actually buy something.
(I apologize for the blurry photo. My less-than-a-year-old laptop is pretty crappy and every once in a while several programs stop working. Right now this includes anything that allows me to view pictures except for the folder view. I could upload all of them to Blogger and delete the ones that don't work, but frankly I've been trying to put Baby Girl to bed for four hours and I'm too tired.)
This is Bill. Maybe. The shelter was calling him Stripes, which made me think of Bill Murray, which is how he got his name. B calls him Dr. Venkman or Peter. Yaya insists that his name is still Stripes.
He's a very loving cat and so far is very good at dealing with the kids (and apparently he walks on a harness), but he and Poppy are having a turf war right now. I would say that's getting old, but it was old the minute it started. During the day I can ignore it, but they don't do it as much during the day. The cats firmly believe that the best military skirmishes take place on enemy soil (a.k.a. upstairs in the hall outside the kids' rooms) when they least expect it (a.k.a. the middle of the night). Until further notice, they are exiled to the basement each night after dinner. It started out that Bill wasn't doing much of the fighting; he was mostly cowering. Now he's holding his own, but when he does he uses that horrible-sounding meow cats have when they're being given a bath or think they might get a bath or when you walk by the bathroom while you're carrying them. I imagine in a week or so they'll be trying to see out the window together or sharing a furnace vent. Tonight they were even on the bed together (albeit at opposite corners) for one whole minute.