Yesterday, we brought this home:

He doesn’t quite have a name yet. We’ve tossed around everything from Tolkien to Pangur-ban and have almost settled on Dewey (after the decimal system). It seems the underlying theme of all of our name possibilities were books or characters therein. And he rather is a bookish cat (in that he likes to sleep on them).

He’s about nine or ten weeks old, is extremely sociable, quite clever and very self-confident.

He walked straight up to our existing cat, Tasha, without a fear in the world and said, “Hi! I’m not a cat. I’m a very small and strangely furry dog.” At which Tasha blinked, hissed once, shook himself out and then decided that dogs of this size were beneath his notice anyway and that he’d rather go drink out of the bathtub tap. So they’ve been peacefully coexisting, without any real friction at all. I even caught them playing this morning.