Yes, he chose that sleeping position all by his little scrunched-up self.

(This post is a continuation of the story that begins here.)

Jack’s love affair with the teal table continues.

Though he begins to tire of all the attention from the paparazzi.

What could be sweeter than the love of a kitten for his box?

The first time Jack was willing to take a nap somewhere other than my lap, it was in the Pasta Machine box (don’t ask why I have a pasta machine, my whole “polymer clay” phase is best forgotten) — from that moment forward the pasta machine box was Jack’s favorite hiding place, toy box, and sanctuary.

Until of course, the inevitable happened and Jack destroyed the box. Oh yes I know, most kittens would simply outgrow a box or trade it in for a new love (such as clean laundry), but not Jack.

Much of Jack’s aforementioned naughtiness (and the demolishing of his beloved box) stems from the fact that he is incredibly stubborn and he has a nasty little temper. Combine “stubborn” with “temper” and add a dash of “Not Allowed” growled in a fuzzy little ear and the end result is Kitten Temper Tantrum.

The first time I witnessed a Jack temper tantrum was when I repeatedly refused to allow Jack to sit in my lap and bite my hands while I was trying to type. He climbed in his box, chattering and complaining, and spent a good five minutes scratching and biting — the box.

You always hurt the ones you love.

It’s not that I think Jack hates me… ever.

Okay, maybe, when I’ve taken one too many pictures.

Or on bath day.

(This post is a continuation of the story that begins here.)

One day I’m working at my desk (which you may recall is next to the teal telephone table with it’s open drawer) and I hear this “scrabbling” noise.

As I live in a state with insects plenty big enough to make “scrabbling” noises, I was immediately wary. I swiveled around in my chair and listened.

The noise was definitely coming from behind the teal table.

I slowly rolled my chair back to the wall.

The scrabbling noise stopped.

I leaned back, and peered behind the table. Now because there is very little space between the table and the wall

<– this is what I saw.

Seeing nothing, hearing nothing, I rolled my chair back to my desk and began working.

In just a few minutes, the noises started again. I froze and listened. Yes, definite scrabbling noises. Definitely behind the teal table.

Again, I slowly rolled my chair back to the wall.

The noise stopped.

I peered behind the table. Nothing.

And suddenly it dawned on me. I hadn’t seen Jack in about an hour and for Jack, that was odd behavior. I picked up my camera, stuck it behind the table and blindly snapped a pic.

When I pulled the camera back, I saw this:

For some time (and a number of photographs), the teal table with the open drawer was Jack’s favorite hiding place.

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