Tonight, my kitty is being amazing. I have two kitties, and just as how I am extremely partial to one of the dogs, I am extremely partial to one of the kitties. He is the kitty who is broken. He has a problem with his spine. Yes, I have a handicapped kitty.
He has always been the best kitty, ever. His face is squished like he had fetal alcohol syndrome. I swear I didn't drink when I was pregnant with him, though. His eyes are beautiful and he has white everywhere and all these stripes, and he's always been quite fat. He gets ignored too much now because of the puppies. He lives upstairs, and he is afraid to come downstairs to get lovin' because the dogs might clobber him, and he's got back problems. Poor fellow.
So tonight, I came upstairs to write, and he is being so happy. He's sitting on my butt and purring, and then he'll get down and come stand next to me and stare at me meaningfully. His nose is so puffy and it has this wonderful spot. He's so squatty and silly.
I keep wanting a new cat. I want a cat that lives outside and kills things, but I feel guilty when I think of a new cat. I just need to hang out more with my own cats to fill my cat urges. If it weren't for the men in my life, I'd have so many cats, and only cats. I've fallen in love with dogs because boys always want to have them, and I've become especially fond of the knuckle-headed pit bull breed. But I'm a crazy cat lady at heart.
I don't think the prospect of lonely widowhood in old age should be quite so appealing...