She goes by many names — Rosie Bear, Rosemont, Doodlebutt, Muffin — and she responds to them all. (But that might be because she’s not smart enough to know which is which…)
Today’s post is a little bit of a copout; besides the 9-to-5 job, I spent the rest of my day today playing with a brand new toy: a Canon Rebel, just for me! But because it was starting to get dark when I finally got around to using it, instead of something more interesting, I opted to just use one of my ready-made models (I’ll save the other one for another day).
Rosie was an impulse purchase at the pet store one day — much like a pack of gum or a tabloid magazine. There only for kitty litter, I couldn’t help but check out the cages set up near the front of the store. And there, smashed up against the wires of her cage sat “Pippi,” an underweight one-year-old stray with the most adorable black spots. After sending a picture of the little cutie pie to my husband, he responded with: “Well, get her!”
Didn’t have to twist my arm — that was all the push I needed. And she’s been the single best purchase I’ve ever made.
She’s not one for being picked up and cuddled, but she will curl up on your lap seconds before you want to get up, wake you up in the middle of the night when she’s ready for head and belly rubs, and wait patiently on the edge of the bathtub while you shower, hoping you’ll pop back out from behind that curtain soon. She’s crazy curious, prefers to eat things only after she’s batted them around for a while, hates to be alone, and has the uncanny ability to never land on her feet. Oh, and when she’s playing, she tends to be lazy about it:
Essentially, she’s me, as a cat.
(First post, meh effort — I’m too tired.)