I’ll start by saying I am not a cat person.
It wasn’t always that way.
I had a cat. An indoor cat (which on a farm was mildly odd, because if an animal wasn’t delicious or did essential work regarding the delicious animals, we didn’t usually waste time or resources on it). A cat named Penny.
Penny would sleep with me and follow me and I loved her. Then she died. And she didn’t leave a hole in my 5 year old heart, and I never thought to replace her.
I didn’t have to deal with cats for many, many years.
And then I kind of sort of fell in love with your owner.
You are crazy dedicated to him. You will mow down anything to get to him. You get in front of his face, and put out a sound too human to be a meow, that clearly means “stop paying attention to her and pet me god damned NOW.”
I am not a cat person.
But I can’t help but admire your moxie.
And I get it. His attention is, indeed, worth fighting for.
And when he’s gone, and it’s just you and me, and you decide as a second choice, I’m a’ight, and that you’ll let me pet you….
….I do. I might not like cats. But I GET you. And begrudgingly respect you. (And am sort of starting to like you.)