Kitty Kitty

A few days ago, we added a new member to the household. I finally have a man of the house!

Hello ladies...

Hello ladies…

After wanting a cat for over a year, I finally gave in after finding this photo on the website of the local Humane Society. Those eyes!

So yeah, I got him. He’s adorable and very loving and very social…and puts up with being chased by my toddler. Poor kitty. He spent the first couple of days behind the washer and dryer, with Reagan standing in front of them screaming like a kitty-banshee. I felt like maybe I had made a bit of a mistake, that maybe I should have waited another year before bringing an animal in to the house. But, when she was in bed, or tethered in her high chair, he’d venture out, rubbing on my legs like mad and playing like a little kitten (he’s 6 months). He never has hissed or growled or bared a claw.

Now he’s venturing out a bit more…and the chasing behind the washer/dryer has become a game of peekaboo between the two of them. She LOVES it…probably more than he does, but it’s a step in the right direction!

I had several people express surprise over getting a black cat. Well, maybe not surprise, but a lot of “I guess you’re not superstitious then?” comments. It turns out that apparently it’s harder for shelters to find homes for black cats, just because people are silly and superstitious. To be honest I never really thought of it, he was just so pretty – and he was a little older, but not old enough to be set in his ways. I love tiny little kittens, but I figured that not only would that be more dangerous (for the kitten) around Reagan, but that I’d like to give someone who might be coming out of the adorable kitten stage a good home.

Last night after I put the cat-chaser to bed, I did an hour of Zumba. It was hard to stay motivated to do it all the way until 9pm, but I got it done. I think the cat thought I was insane, because he was running from one end of the room to the other while I flailed around like the whitest white girl in the world.

Seriously, it’s kinda sad to watch me try and gyrate my hips like these scantily clad Latinos with impossible 6-packs. Those can’t be real…just like gyrating hips while concentrating on footwork and not having a confused furrowed brow is impossible.

Oh, the cat’s name is Sherlock by the way. It has nothing to do with my current weird crush on Benedict Cumberbatch. Honest…

My favorite high-functioning sociopath…

 

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