Was it a deliberate act of sarcasm, since the kittens are always hungry, or am I reading too much into it?
Lately, at night, I lecture Harris sternly and repeatedly (in my Professor McGonagall voice) about kitten decorum because he is crazy about jumping onto the counters and knocking things around. I also caught Toffee exploring there tonight. He was supposed to have learned his lesson after his close encounter with a hot burner.
I know we'll have rig up something unpleasant, with double-stick carpet tape or noisy falling objects, to make the counters unappealing. (A boggart would be more effective. Or better yet, a house elf who'd spend the night making us breakfast and polishing the silver after Harris and Toffee were magically ejected from the premises.)
At the moment, Harris is inside our leather chair. He tore the fabric on the bottom so he can crawl into his own Crate & Barrel cave. We have to do something about that, too.
At least he started using his corrugated vertical scratching post this week. It was gathering dust in my husband's office since before he arrived, as we had been instructed that he would need it. I suspect he's only shredding it because he thinks he's not supposed to. If I praise him as he goes at it, he often stops.
Harris also jumped on our high wooden bookcases by himself tonight. I had to help Toffee, who was eager to join him. Wendy and Possum have no interest in going up there, so the kittens should always have this excellent, high perch to themselves, where they are at eye level with us. When I went over to Harris, he pressed his paws against my face affectionately and closed his eyes. Kittens can do no wrong.
I think Harris has "bedroom eyes" — what do you think?
Compare him with Rudolph Valentino (below).
Luckily, Harris doesn't have a monobrow or such flashy taste in clothes.