We got her at a shelter when we lived in Virginia. She was the lone calico kitten, and Riley wanted a calico. All the other cats were crammed together in little rooms, but she had her own cage up front, and she was chillin’ in a hammock…the kind you see ferrets lounging in at pet stores.
She’s a bit of a prima donna. Very vocal. For the first few years, she would sit beside you, but did not want to be held. If you pet her the wrong way, she let you know it. Now, suddenly, being held is acceptable. She doesn’t fight it.
She drove the stray we took in after her, to a nervous breakdown, trapping her under Seth’s box spring and not letting her out. We wound up giving that cat to my sister. (No need to thank me Kelli).
I’ve had good cats in my life. The kind who melt in your arms, and purr at your feet. She’s not one of them. I’ve always had the feeling she’s out for herself. We humans are a means to a full food bowl, and a clean litter box and nothing more. Riley loved her unconditionally anyway. She didn’t know any other type of cat. She doesn’t know any other type of love.
But lately, lately…this kitty is softening up. She’s getting cuddlier. She sits in my lap and snuggles. She doesn’t squirm when you pick her up.
Who is this affectionate bundle of color? And what have you done with Ms. Cranky Pants?
Nevermind. I don’t really want to know.
Whatever is making her happy, we’ll take it.