introducing ink

We got the kitten. And we rejected your votes and named her Ink. She's black and white, it's newspaper-related, it works. Don't be offended, we're just not big on alliteration in names. Or in general life either. (Damn you, Karen's Klassy Kanines)

She's been adjusting quite well. So well in fact she's conquered our corn plant, removed my toothbrush from its holder, opened a tightly-sealed bucket of cat food and dumped over a cup of water. She's also met her siblings. At first Pica, the resident queen bee, was unimpressed. Not intimidated but not really interested. Now they are like those friends that are only good in small doses.

Our high-anxiety Jack Russell terrier, Mac, loves her. Upon first meeting, he just jumped on the couch and screamed in her face. (Yes, we do in fact have a screaming dog). Over and over, like a pacing zoo animal.

A couple of nights ago we had ice cream with our friend, Johanna. Mac taught Inky what to do when faced with such a lucky situation.

{See, this is good stuff. If you're quiet, they won't notice.}

She caught on quickly.

{OK, OK, I think I've got this!}

And then she wanted it all for herself.

{Seriously, back off. This ice cream is mine.}