I don’t know what it is that makes me such a favorite of cats.
I don’t try to attract them. I don’t even like them that much. But they like me.
Kyra, for some reason, loves me more than John. If John and I are in the same room together, and John gets up to leave, Kyra stays. If I get up to leave, she goes with me.
When I get home from work, Kyra comes to greet me. When John gets home from work, and Kyra’s in another room with me, she doesn’t budge to greet him until I do.
No matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing, she’s right there.
I imagine this might be an accurate indication of what it’ll be like to parent a toddler.
I should point out, though, that Kyra loves loves loves John whenever he feeds her.
To emphasize the historical accuracy of this blog entry, here are two pictures. The first was taken when I was a teenager (dig the glasses) when my family’s cat Lightning was “helping” me with my homework. The second photo was just taken today with Kyra “helping” me work at the computer.
Some things never change.
October 31st, 2006 at 10:42 am
My parents have a cat. His name is Lloyd. He had a buddy once, named Harry (if you don’t get the reference then shame on you), but Harry flew the coop a long time ago. So now there’s just Lloyd. He’s fat. Really fat. But he’s a good hunter. There’s always dead things on my parents’ doorstep.
October 31st, 2006 at 9:10 pm
oh Shannon. this is a classic entry. *lol*
November 1st, 2006 at 10:32 pm
Ha ha. What a great name combo–Harry and Lloyd. If you’re into D & D, anyway (and I don’t mean Dungeons and Dragons…).
It’s probably a good thing we don’t have mice in our house. First, I’m not actually sure Kyra would know what to do with a real live mouse. If live boxelder bugs are any indicator, she’d probably look at the mouse, bat at it, and then watch it run away.
Second, I don’t mind not having dead animals appear on my doorstep. A couple weeks ago my dad told me how their outdoor cat (a terrific hunter) had caught three mice and proudly lined up their corpses on their front doorstep to show off her prizes. When Dad saw the mice and the cat standing next to them he went back inside to get the camera so posterity would remember the day Cleo caught three mice. When he came back a couple minutes later there were just two mice–and one mouse tail hanging out of Cleo’s mouth.
That’s enough to make anyone grateful they don’t own cats, or at least not really excellent mousers.