So, here's Lola. She came from my friend L., who decided to give her up when she managed to slice her way out of all the window screens in the house in the course of a week. Before that she lived with someone who wanted to pare down the number of pets in the house. L. put up a plea on Facebook, and I thought, Why not? I could manage a cat. I sent L. a message, and away we went.
Lola is a huge pain in the ass. She spends large portions of the night yowling at walls and random bits of fluff. She's peed on the kitchen cabinets, thrown up on my bed, and walks in front of me all the time, so I'm constantly tripping over her. She's an uber-picky eater, and she spills her water bowl on purpose, I'm sure.
Lola is also a darling. She smushes her face close to mine as a hug. She loves to be picked up and carried around the house. She freaks out with excitement when I shake the bag of treats. She's adorable playing with her toys, and any time you touch her while she's resting, she makes a noise like a squeaky toy. It's actually pretty funny. She's never had any health problems, and she's quiet when in a carrier- once you manage to get her in it, of course. And she loves me. For no reason other than I feed and pet her.
My cat has managed to severely cut the number of hours I sleep, but she's also managed to infinitely increase the amount of love I feel during the waking hours. I'm still by no means a 'cat person'. However, I'm surprised by how much I love the one I have. I don't know if she remembers the other places she's lived, and I flatter myself to think she loves living here. I hope she does, anyway.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a tummy-rub to give.
