Monday, November 17, 2014


There have only been a few years of my life when I did not live with a cat (or two). In college I had roommates, not cats. In seminary I was cat-less for one year, had an illicit cat in the dorm for one year, and then lived off-campus the third year (with the cat). Said cat had to go live with my parents while I went to Egypt, so I technically didn't *live* with a cat that year--though there were tons of cats that lived in the school grounds, and they were perfectly happy to be petted and played with every evening.

So...I've been a cat-mom for a long time. Currently I have two cats (the maximum allowed by my condo association). One, Ollie, is the cat who lived with me in the dorm all those years ago. The other, Andrew, was adopted when I moved to Crystal Lake, because Ollie seemed lonely. These two cats have been with me in this same house for eight years now.

When I sit down on the couch, I am supposed to tuck my feet up to the right, so Andrew can come lay on them and purr the day away. Bonus: keeps my feet warm. Slight downside: if I need to move my legs, too bad.

When I turn on the kitchen sink, or when I put on shoes and coat and start looking like I'm going to leave the house, the cats come running because they know that they usually get treats at those times.

We have trained each other well. (except where counters/tables/food are concerned--both are in love with being on the counters and table and trying to steal food right off my plate.)

This morning, I turned on the water in the bathroom sink after I got out of the shower, because Ollie is always on the counter waiting for me to give her a drink.

Except she wasn't sitting there. I turned on the water out of habit...while she was still snuggled up in the bed.

Well-trained indeed.

kitten Ollie plays in the sink
she's been practicing her stealth food-stealing moves for years
the treat spot

laying on my feet

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