I live with cats

I live with cats. My wife and I still have a son and daughter living at home. There are four of us. And there are four of them. But sometimes we feel outnumbered. I’m pretty sure one of them will probably be the death of me. They get underfoot at the worst of times. When startled they will dig in their claws while leaping off my lap, leaving long lacerations in my legs. But at this point I can’t imagine not having them around.

When I get up, typically around 4:30am, the four cats are all waiting for me to feed them. I hit the button on the coffee pot to get it brewing then carefully make my way down the basement steps to put 2 scoops of cat food into each of their individual dishes. The two male cats, Louie and Remi, always act like they haven’t eaten in days. You would think we starved them. Daisy, one of the females, patiently waits, but definitely is eager for her breakfast. Ruby, the other female, hardly pays attention to her food bowl. I know she eats, but she usually has higher priorities…like chewing on phone charger cords.

When I get home after a long day of work (usually between 6pm-7pm, but sometimes later), my routine is pretty consistent. I have something to eat, then change out of my work clothes. I sit down with Bonnie in our living room. I settle into my recliner. I usually pull out a quilt to cover my legs. Then up hops Daisy. She settles in…eventually…often after 10 minutes of pushing and digging with her claws and pressing against my hands with her head. She wants me to pet her. I do. Then she settles in.

As we sit and talk, Louie is generally on a couch by himself. He’s a bit of a grump. Remy has taken a liking to sitting in the basket of blankets next to Bonn (say that 3 times fast!). Ruby is generally off on her own somewhere…hunting for a cord to chew through. I think the cats like it here. I think we like them here too.

I live with cats.


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