I love my cats. I adore my cats. I have two of the cutest cats ever born - Oscar and Emmy the Wonder Cats ™. Most of the time, they bring me great joy. I got them as kittens in Brooklyn from the shelter, and they’ve travelled with me to Virginia where we share a house with my parents until my boyfriend moves here in the fall and we move in with him. They do very cute and adorable and kitty-ish things. Oscar likes to chase furry mice toys and make growling noises as if he is proving to them that while he may not longer have his balls, he is still THE BIG CAT. He likes to smack Emmy around once in awhile, but as she’s learning to fight back, I’m less worried about that now. Emmy plays a game where she sits at the top of the stairs and sticks a paw out the banister at whoever happens to be passing to get their attention, then flops over on her back to get her belly rubbed. My parents have fallen in love with these two, my neighbor’s children come over to visit Oscar because he’s also fascinated by them (he’d never seen children before), and my brother and sister-in-law found it hilarious that Oscar was willing to take on their Husky in a test of wills one Sunday afternoon (Oscar won).
My parents are currently out of town for a week, so they haven’t been getting the overdose of attention that they usually get. Emmy is usually fairly content to sit near me no matter what I’m doing. Oscar likes to be the center of whatever I’m doing. My best friend nearly got an email last night reading: "Hi - what’s up? I keep meaning to callsefhweurf 3e