I'm not really a fan of cats. I am what you would call a "dog person." And you know why? Because dogs think you are the coolest thing since Beggin' Strips and cats are only friends with you so they can copy your homework.
I don't really DISLIKE cats. It's generally more of a mutual tolerance. And I've had boyfriends before with a fondness for the feline persuasion. The most notable of which was a cat I (not so) fondly called Fatso.
But Man Friend. He's a dog lover. His favorite breeds rival draft horses in height. This is one of his many qualities that has him placed firmly in the "keeper" catagory.
But Man Friend has a cat.
To be fair it's his mother's cat. And it's a nice enough cat but there is also a dog in the house who I shamelessly placed into my deepest affections immediately.
Initially, I wanted nothing to do with this cat. But then, slowly, he managed to catch my attention. I realized this cat. He likes to wrestle. With the dog. Then he got caught in a number of questionable kitty yoga poses, one paw stuck back behind his head, tongue sticking out as he paused to contemplate me.
I think, however, our relationship began the night he darted his fuzzy little butt into the bathroom and stood there beside the toilet, awe struck as I evacuated the contents of my stomach. Repeatedly. He even took it good naturedly when I shoved his head out of the way when he got too close. And then, when I thought (wrongly) that I had finished, he kept me company while I munched on a cracker at 3:30 in the morning.
He has a fondness for wrapping himself around my feet, particularly on the way down the steps and I've more than once kicked him in the head "unintentially." This weekend he even curled up in my lap while I read on the couch. Until someone showed up. Then he pretended what we had never happened. Bastard.
He also puts up with Man Friend, which is a testament to anyones patience. (HEART!) As I was getting ready to leave yesterday, I took a small detour to the bathroom. When I emerged Man Friend had an enormous bulge protruding from his sweater.
"I'm pregnant," he announced cheerfully.
Slightly put off, I pressed the mass thinking it was my coat.
It felt too warm to be my coat.
Then it moved.
He had shoved the cat up into his sweatshirt and had a real fear the cat was going to bite his nipple.
"He probably WANTED the cat to bite him. That's the kinky stuff he does when you're not around."
"Hey, a little well placed peanut butter goes a long way."
"Brings a whole new meaning to the term 'pet lover.'"
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4 comments:
Are you trying to tell me that you do not love Miss Posey???? (Trini acts like he doesn't love her, but he tucks her into bed at night and feeds her from his plate. Cats rock!)
I will never be able to hear the term "pet lover" again without thinking of Stewie and peanut butter. (I just threw up a lttle.)
Of course I love Posey. She's so much more than a cat and SOOO friendly. My God, she actually graced me with her presense long enough that I WOKE UP to find her laying on my legs. < /backpeddling >
Ok, here's where I'd like to point out the difference between loving your pets, and loving your pets.
Cats rock.
You tell 'em Michael!
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