She Loves Me Not

I promised myself I would never write about the cats. I can barely admit to myself that I even have them after so many years of cat hair-free blissful living, but I do. Like Childbirth, It is nature’s way that you forget the pain, lest no one EVER do it ever, ever again.

I just started by browsing the rescue site to oooh and awww, like you would looking at Cute Overload. When I saw her, I had to meet her. She’s ridiculous. See for yourself.

Once I met her, there was no question that I would adopt her. When they said we *had to* adopt her litter mate also, we still had to have her.

(sidenote: SO NOT HER LITTER MATE…he’s got to be like three weeks older and there is no way on earth they are even related. BAMBOOZLED. Though, don’t misunderstand. He is LOVELY and the kids love him more than anything in the world.)

I have adored this cat since I first saw her picture. Here’s the thing. Despite how enthralled I am with her, I find myself in an ugly little love triangle, where I am, without question, the third wheel. That’s right. I’ll say it. She loves @aaronh more than me, and I won’t have it.

She’s a cat’s cat, totally stereotypical in her behavior. She’s independent to the degree that when she feels like she’s tired at night, she just goes to bed without us, sometimes hours before us, and passes out on our bed. She never talks to me. She’s got to be the most quiet cat I’ve ever had, barely even purrs…with me. For @aaronh , however, she’s a whole different girl. She loves him, LOVES HIM SO MUCH. This morning, I heard totally foreign little meows coming from the bathroom as Aaron was drying off after his shower, and I peeked in the room to find the cat that routinely gives me the silent treatment, meowing over and over again at Aaron, trying to get him to pet her. Honestly, I think it would have been less shocking, and definitely less insulting to peek in the door and see an air hostess from the 60′s in there with my towel-clad husband.

Trollop.