Cats are people too!
Well, sort of.
At least mine seem to think they are.
Now, before you start thinking, “oh my gosh, not another old lady with cats,” let me explain that I have only two eleven year old cats, born a month apart. The reason I have two instead of one is that a former coworker managed to talk me into adopting one she had to give up.
The first one is a Siamese named Emily and the second is a Snowshoe named Oliver. Both were low-key, almost no maintenance, and a pleasure to have around — until about two years ago when they started acting like crabby, needy people and have been driving me crazy ever since.
The main reason I like cats in the first place is that they’re so low maintenance. They’re stand-offish, especially Siamese, and they sleep most of the time. Now that mine are older, though, they’ve become lap cats — and follow me all over the house cats — and meow at me constantly cats — and hair all over the place cats.
Between the two of them, they are my official timekeepers. At about 9:30 every night, Ollie walks up to me, lets out a string of plaintive meows, then heads for the stairs. He does this repeatedly until I turn off all the lights, etc. and follow him up to bed — or throw a coaster at him. (No, I don’t actually try to hit him. I just lob it in his direction to get him to go away and let me read my book for a while longer.) Emily, on the other hand, wakes me up every morning by sitting next to my head and purring — loudly. Who knew purring would make such a good alarm clock!
Okay, enough about cats — except for the pictures, of course …