I had a reasonably productive day yesterday. But our cat, Ana, is having the best weekend since my kids were born. The small annoying creatures are gone! Forever! (Presumably.)
Louisette, age five, is a dog person.
TJ, age three, is a cat person, like his mum (which makes me very happy). He’s at an obsessive age, and will often pause in our living room and say, “Where’s Ana? I want to pat Ana. I want her come IN.”
He’ll sometimes try and involve her in his train set or puzzles, or try to feed her a cracker. It’s adorable seeing him try to please her. Ana knows he is an excellent source of attention, but she also knows he is loud and fast and unpredictable. So she’ll sidle into a room and pause, wanting his pats but dreading his overwhelming love. I watch this dramatic tension play out every day.
These facial expressions perfectly encapsulate their relationship:
Except of course today. Today it’s just Ana and me, and she is literally vibrating with joy. She’s sticking close to me—not on my lap, which would imply she actually likes a mere human—roughly a metre away, and loudly purring.
She’s going to be so pissed when the others come back.
(She also doesn’t like having her photo taken. Cats are too regal to be looked at directly, and that includes looking through lenses.)