If he could bark, I’m sure he would.Īll things considered (and I have considered all things), he’s a good helper… or at least consistent, and fluffy. He really likes when the mail lady comes. Kitten knows that this is my spot on the couch. … which kinda makes me feel like I let a bengal tiger live in my house. He used to sleep in bowls of the punch variety. Note: Cats aren’t supposed to eat onions (or garlic). He did… but he would have licked the bowl if it had mushrooms and onions in it too. Just this once… and just to see if he’d like it. I didn’t know that he’d lose all sense of decency. I let the little guy (he’s totally not little, but he hates when I call him big-boned) get some sniffs and licks in. Yes, I realize that I can easily pop into any grocery and buy the kitten a package of treats without making my house smell like weird, warm, wet cat food.Īaahhh, the things we do for love: make cat treats.Īaahhh, the things we do because we’re ridiculous: watch the entire season of Bachelor Pad 3 with rapt attention. And I made you treats so quit your yappin’, and no you can’t go outside. Two years of trying to convince me that you don’t love me… when I know you do… because I love you back. Two years of eating exactly everything I make… including that pancake you snuck off the pan while I was photographing. Two years of making my boyfriends run screaming. Two years of sleeping at the foot of my bed… and attacking my feet at the slightest sign of movement. Two years of sitting in and on everything I need. Two years of sneaking into my food shots. Two years of climbing the walls… literally. Two years of belly rubs turned forearm attacks. Two years of tricking my friends with your cuteness and leg rubs. Two years of also keeping a lint roller in my car. Two years of lint rolling all of my clothes. Two years of sleeping in what you know is my spot on the couch. Two years of crying for food at five in the morning. It’s time to celebrate two years together.
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