This is Phineas. He was waiting for Ted and me at the High Desert Humane Society when we finally collected our broken hearts after losing Ferby, and drove over to adopt a kitten.
I opened Phineas' cage door and he jumped into my arms and climbed onto my shoulder, where he commenced purring at a thunderous volume, bigger than his 12 weeks of age should allow.
This, my friends, is an enthusiastic cat. He sits still only for several seconds before he rockets off to chase something, or nothing, or Nezumi. He lets us hold him for a minute, then proceeds to climb around our necks like a ferret. He launches himself full bore through the cat door into the garage--BANG!--which makes Ted wonder what will happen when we inevitably lock it to keep the cats in the house.
He's equipped with speed, endurance, and a 24/7 sense of fun. Nezumi plays with him, but gets fed up and seeks higher ground to get away from him because Phineas plays rough. Phineas even goes after Obie, who issues cease-and-desist warnings, which Phineas ignores while he attacks and then zips out of Obie's grumpy reach. He banks off the backs of the sofas on his flight around the great room, skids to a stop like Cosmo Kramer when he sees something that captures his attention, then takes off again.
This atomic-powered Energizer Bunny frequently pauses long enough to eat and eat and eat. If you go as fast as he does, you'll always be hungry--and he is. Nothing is sacred. He drinks coffee from an unguarded morning mug. He grabs grasshoppers off the patio. Snatches Ted's bacon off the counter. Laps cat food out of the can. Roars in from the garage at the slightest sound in the kitchen. He tries to eat paper napkins that bear turkey sandwich residue. He crowds Nezumi away from the cat's dish, even though two corners contain a pile of food for each cat. Nezumi retreats several feet, waits for Phineas to finish up and leave the dish, and then asks for a refill, which Phineas promptly returns to scarf up as soon as he hears the dish rattle. Cheeky little fellow.