I adopted my cat a few months ago. I can't imagine how I ever lived without him. I wake up in the morning and he is poised over me, ready to strike. I scream and he runs. It is a refreshing way to wake up.
Hissy (the cat), steals stuff that reminds him of me and stashes them under my bed. I'm not sure why the kitchen sponge reminds him of me, but it's under my bed with my fishnets and a bra and one of my shower gloves. Yes, I wear gloves in the shower. My skin is deliciously soft.
Originally, I wanted a dog. I had a dog purse, a name, and several outfits picked out for him. We were going to spend every moment together. I was even going to pick up his little turds. That's a love like I have never known. I found a breeder. She looked human, but she swore that she had the most adorable teacup Yorkies this side of the Mississippi. I didn't want her to probe into my sex life, so I didn't ask how she bred all those adorable puppies. I've done it that way and I've never had a litter.
I ended up adopting Hissy because, in the end, I decided that there is only enough room for one little b*tch in here.
I have given this a lot of thought and have developed a theory. I am almost a lap dog. Especially, when it comes to relationships.
Like a lap dog, I'm kind of annoying. I yap a lot. I might hump your leg. I've been known to puke on the rug. I want to go for a ride in the car. I'll gladly stick my nose in your crotch. It's best to keep me on a short leash. I need my nails trimmed. Sometimes, I have crud in the corners of my eyes. I want to eat at the table. That spot on my stomach drives me crazy. I can lick my own...nevermind.
I need to go outside. I have to go.