I don't often like to get personal on here. It's a blog about books! Y'all are here for the book love, not so much the random hijinks that happen at my house. I'm having a hard time digging up the bookish goodness today, though. Had to say goodbye to my favourite book-warming buddy (because, well, he didn't exactly read them but he did love to
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They like to lie on my kindle and hide it completely. I can't tell you how many times I've gone looking for it and the end result is me digging underneath a furry fat belly.
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I am deeply in sympathy with you. My family has never in the last 20 years had fewer than 3 cats at any given point in time. I used to have 3 myself--the third was a kitten that my husband brought home from a hunting trip last fall (He's the only man I know who can go out hunting wild hogs and bring home a half-feral cat. She just...attached herself to him, and wouldn't let go.) We named her Stella (for some reason, she reminded me of Stella from Tennessee Williams' A Streetcar Named Desire) and she was my cuddle buddy. The instant I sat down anywhere, she was immediately on me. Then, after we'd had her in our lives about 6 months, she just...died. It was sad. It was my kids' first real experience with death of a soul they were close to. We're not sure what happened to her. But we have two older cats still to love on and play with, so we're making it through.
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