Eleven years with Millie, and I have loved every minute of it.
On Monday night, I went to a party for AFC volunteers. It was a lovely evening and everyone had to stand up and introduce themselves. I was proud to tell everyone that I got involved with AFC after adopting a little orange boy, "two years ago today, actually!"
Monday (the 6th) marked my anni-fur-sary with Harley, who is still fondly remembered by my fellow volunteers.
My cats bring me great joy. They loved me fat, they love me not-so-fat. They loved me when I was a stressed-out teacher on anti-depressants, they love me unemployed (so long as we have cat food on hand). They let me scratch their ears and rub their soft bellies. They listen to my troubles and woes, and let me talk goofy at them (It's not uncommon 'round these parts to hear me say stuff like, "Hey Doodle-oodle-bug. My doo-dle-ee-oo-dle-ee boy!" or "Mama's sweet baby princess girl! Millie Joyful! Hi, sweet baby girl!" in a high-pitched voice, complete with dopey smile and outstretched arms).
One of my greatest pleasures in life is relaxing on the sofa, watching a movie or reading a book, with cats near me, on me, around me. Last night I watched a movie with Harley on my legs and Millie on the back of the couch, near my head. I wake up most mornings with both of them near me--usually by my legs. I fall asleep most nights with Millie on me or right next to me, and Harley nearby. Bedtime for me means bedtime for them. They tend to stay in whichever room I happen to be occupying at any given time.
It's never dull around here. There's always a cat toy to trip on, someone rubbing my ankles, serious playtime, serious nap time, Tuna Time, cuddle time, bath time. They bathe each other, they try to bathe me. One minute they're peacefully snuggling in the Sweet Spot; the next, Harley is biting Millie's butt and Millie is ears-back, growling, fiery, pissed-off feline.
The calm before the inevitable storm...
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