When my cat Herb died at 19, it was like losing an arm. We were such good, cuddly friends. (Yes, I’m female — but would it matter?)
My current kitty isn’t that affectionate — but then, he’s a shelter boy adopted when he was a year old. He clearly likes men better than women, crazy about Joe Cocker while I prefer Beethoven. I have to remind him when he gives me that exasperated look that if I had left him there, he would have been put down that very day.
He’s made a few house rules:
1. He gets groomed every morning — or else!
2. He gets catnip and Party Mix every afternoon — or else!
The “or else” consists of marching around my desk knocking everything over, tramping on the puter keys, meowing like crazy until I comply. I like to think this is cat love.
Party Mix rules!