Lies! All lies!
First of all, we don't have a fluffy chair.
If we did, it would be scratched to smithereens by now.
Second, several of my sweaters (and my favorite pair of jeans) now have pulls in them because aforementioned furball loves to scratch on everything except the twenty dollar scratching post we bought it.
I can't read a book without him sticking his butt in my face, and typing with my laptop on my lap is impossible, because Kitty likes to walk across the keyboard, thereby typing up deep and introspective reflections on his new life that I'm sure he'd love to post on the blog. Seriously, he's figured out ways to type symbols that I had no clue my keyboard could type. Also, he has now gotten his little nails stuck in the holes in the side of computer more times that I care to mention.
He tries to eat my wedding bouquet on a regular basis and looks at Sparky with alarming mischievousness.
His poop smelled so much that it sent both Kip and I diving under pillows and gasping for air. And that's saying something when a man constantly surrounded by other men finds a stench too odoriferous.
He spent so much time hopping between me and Kip the first two nights we had him that I had to take the kitten to the living room and entertain him on the couch so that Kip could get some sleep before starting work at 6:30 the next morning.
And, the piece de resistance, I have realized why the Whiskas commercials were always accompanied by touching piano soundtracks. IT'S BECAUSE IF THEY INCLUDED THE SOUND OF THE KITTEN PURRING IT WOULD SOUND LIKE THERE WAS A FRIGGIN' BLACKHAWK HELICOPTER HOVERING NEXT TO THE CAMERA.
In conclusion, Whiskas, with their snide little commercials showcasing feline bliss, lied.
...but our as-yet-unnamed kitten is still adorable.