I have never been a cat person. In fact, I have a love-hate relationship with my own cat, so much so that I’ve sworn off ever having another as a pet. She’s bossy. She tells me when to feed her. She swipes at me when she’s not happy. Her favorite spot to sleep is our dining room table. The list goes on, I will spare you the gory details.
However, in the past couple weeks, we’ve finally started to bond. It only took three years. I’ve gone from ambivalent to finding myself happy to see her. Suddenly, she is everywhere I am, following me around the house. It scares me that my urge to post these personified pictures is somehow reflective of me becoming a cat person. I hope not, although I am not sure why. Many of the “cat people” I know are among my favorites. Still, I find myself kicking and screaming at the prospect.
“I’m going with you to see Liz, right?”
“I’m not going with you, I hope you die.”
“Okay, whatever, we can still be friends.”
