Two weeks ago tomorrow, I brought home a skinny tabby rat cat who was MUCH more of a kitten that I'd planned. And this is the face you made.
Here is another face you made. The photo is blurry but I feel that only adds to the drama.
I'm sorry, Gomez; I'm misrepresenting you, and on your Racculia birthday no less. The truth is that you have been nothing short of a gentleman since I brought a whole other creature, without telling you, into our lives. Sure, you bapped her on the head more than a few times. You hissed more than a few times. You were tentative.
And then you reminded me why I was so crazy lucky to find you, once upon a time in Massachusetts: you were awesome. You rolled around on the floor with her. You chased her, and you let her chase you; now you gallop like two furry ponies.
I had many one-sided conversations with you prior to going to the shelter (or, as it turned out, the vet), that were, admittedly, deep conversations with myself: do you trust me? Will this be good for you? DO WE DARE TO BE HAPPIER THAN WE ALREADY ARE?
You looked at me like
I wanted another cat because: cats! But mostly I got her for you. Some cats are Only Cats, but I got the sense that you weren't. You have too much energy. You're lonely when I'm not around. When I come home from trips, I'm typically greeted by the sound of you throwing your tiny furry self at the door from the other side, you are SO DESPERATE to see me again.
She isn't a present; she's a living creature. But you could say I got you a sister for your birthday.
I think you really like her.