Seeing as how my last post was a little harsh, I’ll try to keep this one light.
We, myself and my better half, have two cats. One is Grady. Grady is super cool. He sleeps a lot, likes to play, eats everything, loves to cuddle and love up on people, and has the personality of the guy at the bar that everyone knows and never has to buy a drink.
And then there’s the other one. Gracie. Gracie is a manx, skittish, sleeps sporadically and usually not when I’m asleep, and has the personality of Garfield in a world where lasagna doesn’t exist and every day is Monday.
The most obnoxious aspect of the special bond I have with Gracie is her staring habit. I know, cats stare at things. This cat stares at ME. All day and night. From any distance or angle. At every hour of the day or night. If I glance at her, she’s already staring. Gracie is probably staring at me as I write this sentence.
Let me draw a picture. One night, I’m cuddled up in bed with my special lady. 2:30 AM, I wake up for whatever reason. I open my eyes and lift my head. On the other side of my girlfriend is Gracie, the the demon from Hell, sitting up, just staring directly into my soul, which I’m sure she thinks will be delicious. I have pictures of that moment. I have pictures of many moments. She sticks her head out from around the edge of a door, sits in a corner and stares at me, lays down on my better half and stares into my eyes.
Gracie will probably try to kill me at some point. On the other hand, she also tries to fight Grady every night and loses, on an epic scale. So I’m not super worried. Until she drags me into the underworld.
But I love Grady and Gracie equally. And they love me just as much. At least they do when it’s time to eat.
Stay classy, and I’ll see you at the next stop.