“Well there you are, Gwennie. Where have you been all day?”
“Hiding.” She rubbed her head against my hand, silently requesting ear squishes.
“Why were you hiding?”
“I don’t like loud noises. I don’t like Boy-Dadda banging away in the garage and I don’t like the rain and I really don’t like the thunder.”
“What do you like?” I scratched her chin.
“I like Momma.”
“Awe. I love you too.”
“NO! I said I LIKE you. Pay attention!”
“You should be.”
I sighed. “What else do you like?”
“My puff balls, my kibbles, and a clean litter box.”
“What about Little Missy? You like Little Missy, right?”
“She’s ugly and smells like poop. It’s hard to like someone so unfortunate.”
“What about the Little Thing?”
“He’s ugly, he drools and he also smells like poop.” She jumped up on my lap and shoved her face into mine. “Don’t even argue with that last one. You’ve smelled it too.”
“I wouldn’t dream of arguing with you, Gwennie.”
She snorted at me and trotted off. What am I going to do with that cat?
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