Schroedinger

Beermann now has a cat. Luckily, it is still young enough to be qualified as a kitten, and I didn't have to destroy it immediately. Also, I'm lucky that I didn't inherit my father's allergies to cats, so I was the only visitor not responding to the kitty proteins of their house.

The cat's name is Schroedinger. I found it amusing that it jumped into an empty box during our tour of the attic. Beermann didn't put up with my attempts to destroy the kitten, nor did he enjoy my efforts to close him in the box and make him a quantum kitty. So, I decided to play nice from then on.

When I woke on the recliner the next morning, I had a cat sleeping on my chest, nuzzled against my neck. When I started moving, he woke up and started purring and bumping my face. It was grotesquely cute and I had to stop it. I also hope they declaw the thing before it destroys their nice leather couches.