My husband and I are crazy cat people. We’re THOSE PEOPLE in the neighborhood.
You know - the ones that seem to have an invisible neon sign over the house that attracts all of the stray animals? Yeah, that’s us.
In our twenty years of living in our current home, that has led to many joining the indoor contingent of Feline Overlords. Seven currently rule our domain. There have also been many ferals that have made our outdoor property their domain, never wanting to come indoors and become housecats. There are two ferals in our lives right now, along with an opossum and a chonky racoon that like to play kibble cleanup.
I am grateful for the furry family members of our lives. We have so many lovely moments with them - he days spent cross stitching with one in my lap, despite them eventually becoming such dead weight that my legs go numb. Or perhaps the mornings where I wake up feeling someone stretching long against me, sucking up body heat as we both snooze. There’s nothing like that purring rumble coming up for love or to give comfort after a rough day. The unconditional love is mixed with that completely casual disregard for anything you genuinely needed to do as they plunk their furry butts on your books, knock pens off the desk, or yowl in the middle of the hallway to test acoustics.
I truly can’t imagine life without animals. Aside from my years of living in college dorms where pets weren’t allowed, I’ve always had at least one cat in my life. For most of my life with my husband, we’ve had seven at a time. Too many for some, but just the right amount of furry love for us, reminding us that sometimes love truly is just a basic headbump to those you love to remind them you’re there.