I’d like to introduce you to someone. This is Luke.
And he was not named after the Star Wars character, thank you very much. (Fact: I only just watched the Star Wars series a year ago. And… they weren’t bad.)
Luke and I were meant to be together. He was the last of a litter (the runt, too) that I found advertised in a local paper. When I arrived to pick him up, he was behind a sofa, hiding from two terrorist children. Their mother seemed disinterested, just wanted this last nuisance out of the house and I wasn’t leaving him behind.
On the way home, he slept in my lap. I was in love. While he was small, he would find random places to sleep; on shelves behind picture frames, in the entertainment center. Now, he often sleeps here, on our shoes:
He talks a lot, especially when he wants treats. And he still looks for warm, available laps. He is so super cuddly and lovable.
The Husband and I are animal lovers for sure, but we live in an apartment and it wouldn’t be fair for us to try and house a bunch of pets. We’re happy with our two “kids” right now. (Yes, Luke has a brother from another mother. Actually, a sister, but “sister” doesn’t sound quite right in that sentence. I’ve ruined it now, haven’t I?)
It always surprises me how often I hear people say they don’t like cats, or they’re “dog people.” Cats (okay, some cats) have such amazing personalities. Sure, I’d love to have dogs and turtles and pigs, but I wouldn’t give my cats up for the world.