Baxter was named after a Puritan minister, and I am faintly amused by this memory when I hear him yowl through the bathroom door or when his claws clumsily scrabble across our faux-wood floor.  He is not quite as cute now, in the sense that his kitten-like actions are more coordinated though less graceful and less innocent.  Playful nips at our fingers now threaten to break the skin,…