One Hit Wonderland

I love cats.

Let me rephrase that. I love MY cats. not other people's cats. I can honestly say I am obsessed with them. For reasons that Mike cannot understand, I can read the expressions on their faces. If I leave the room, one of them follows me. They could be in one of those dead weight naps that only cats can achieve, but as SOON as I leave the room, one of them is up to begin guard duty. They take turns. Neither one of them is more protective than the other. I've even seen the do the rock paper scissors thing to see who was going to follow me upstairs.

If they lose sight of me, Ceasar does the howling cry. "Helloooo!" echoes thru the house. "I'm in here"....and he comes trouncing in, fat belly just swinging away.

Romeo steals my pillows...yes, BOTH of them. Since he's about 20 pounds, he feels this is okay, he needs the room. No fat boy, get off my pillow. We have fights about it. The floor is not good enough for him, he needs a cushy pillow(s). We are not in Egypt, you are not a god in this house. Romeo feels otherwise.

They have a routine. They get treats before I leave the house in the morning and on Sunday they get a can of wet cat food. The chunky kind in gravy. Not the mealy mashed 'looks like it had already been eaten' crap. Gross. They KNOW when it's Sunday.

And they are gay.