Cats...
Cats have ways of breaking your heart into a million little pieces. You find them. You adopt them. Rather, they adopt you. They pick you, because maybe you buy the good cat food. Maybe because they can just tell what human, what family will be the best for them. Maybe it's because you stop to say hello. Maybe it's because you see them, and hear their story about being in shelters or in foster homes all their lives, and no one wants to keep them. Maybe it's because your heart their story about always being sent back because they're brats and they fight with other cats on occasion. Whatever it is, though, you still fall in love. You still take them home. They become a part of your family.
You cuddle them, and they like being cuddled. They like being held, and hugged, and even squeezed. You look at them, and they purr so loud you can hear them across the room and down the hall. They coo like pigeons, or sound like a motorcycle. Your gaming buddies can hear them over your mic, and they start cracking up because it's cute and funny, and who ever heard of a cat that can do that? They flop around, chase other cats, sometimes bite, sometimes fight, sometimes hiss and snarl, but they are a part of family, so you don't give them up, because the good outweighs the bad, and they are, by the end of the day, a big goofy, chubby orange happy cat.
Buddy is very sick. He may be dying. I can't stop crying. I know it sounds dumb to cry over a cat, but... Cats have ways of getting into your family, your life, your heart, and then they break it into a million tiny pieces. And you can't help but be sad for a while. Because they are good cats. And you love them.
I have chores to do. Floors to vacuum and trash to take out. But I think letting the big silly orange cat named Buddy sleep on my bed, in spite of Dante's protests and quiet jealous glares takes priority.
You cuddle them, and they like being cuddled. They like being held, and hugged, and even squeezed. You look at them, and they purr so loud you can hear them across the room and down the hall. They coo like pigeons, or sound like a motorcycle. Your gaming buddies can hear them over your mic, and they start cracking up because it's cute and funny, and who ever heard of a cat that can do that? They flop around, chase other cats, sometimes bite, sometimes fight, sometimes hiss and snarl, but they are a part of family, so you don't give them up, because the good outweighs the bad, and they are, by the end of the day, a big goofy, chubby orange happy cat.
Buddy is very sick. He may be dying. I can't stop crying. I know it sounds dumb to cry over a cat, but... Cats have ways of getting into your family, your life, your heart, and then they break it into a million tiny pieces. And you can't help but be sad for a while. Because they are good cats. And you love them.
I have chores to do. Floors to vacuum and trash to take out. But I think letting the big silly orange cat named Buddy sleep on my bed, in spite of Dante's protests and quiet jealous glares takes priority.