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August has now been here for over a month.
The sentence I most often say to her is "I hear you, I'm just ignoring you." I have learned that it's just fine to be mean to your cat and to call her a brat when indulging her every whim means that you would rarely sleep and she would eat you out of house and home. Yesterday she tried to get at my French toast and got a pawful of maple syrup instead.
We've had some beautifully cold weather for the last 36 hours (so cold that I closed my windows to slits for the night—it's fantastic), so as I write I am wrapped up in August's microfleece blanket. August is pressed against me and kneading every inch of body-warmed blanket that she can reach while gurgle-purring with her nose pressed into the folds. She's started to leave wet spots on rare occasion—not quite suckling but there's at least some happy drool going on. Last night she snuggled with me for hours of end, curled into my tummy as the little spoon while I watched some Star Trek. I have no compunctions about winning my cat's affection by acting as a living conduction heater on a cold day.
We went through an intense honeymoon phase of "love me and touch me all over," we went through a brat stage in the middle of some physical and mental health issues on my part and I can't say there weren't moments that I doubted the choice to adopt her, and now she's my annoying bratcat who is constantly starving (can't you tell?) and once broke into Spike's food bowl twice in one day, who sleeps with me all night and wants me to chase her around the house every evening, who walks across my keyboard and tries to warm her butt on my laptop, who likes to have her belly rubbed and during snuggle time wants to be pressed against as much of me as possible for maximum warmth.
And I know it doesn't stop here. She'll continue to grow and change, and so will our relationship.
I want to see it all.
The sentence I most often say to her is "I hear you, I'm just ignoring you." I have learned that it's just fine to be mean to your cat and to call her a brat when indulging her every whim means that you would rarely sleep and she would eat you out of house and home. Yesterday she tried to get at my French toast and got a pawful of maple syrup instead.
We've had some beautifully cold weather for the last 36 hours (so cold that I closed my windows to slits for the night—it's fantastic), so as I write I am wrapped up in August's microfleece blanket. August is pressed against me and kneading every inch of body-warmed blanket that she can reach while gurgle-purring with her nose pressed into the folds. She's started to leave wet spots on rare occasion—not quite suckling but there's at least some happy drool going on. Last night she snuggled with me for hours of end, curled into my tummy as the little spoon while I watched some Star Trek. I have no compunctions about winning my cat's affection by acting as a living conduction heater on a cold day.
We went through an intense honeymoon phase of "love me and touch me all over," we went through a brat stage in the middle of some physical and mental health issues on my part and I can't say there weren't moments that I doubted the choice to adopt her, and now she's my annoying bratcat who is constantly starving (can't you tell?) and once broke into Spike's food bowl twice in one day, who sleeps with me all night and wants me to chase her around the house every evening, who walks across my keyboard and tries to warm her butt on my laptop, who likes to have her belly rubbed and during snuggle time wants to be pressed against as much of me as possible for maximum warmth.
And I know it doesn't stop here. She'll continue to grow and change, and so will our relationship.
I want to see it all.
