Harry and Penny (named after President Truman and for her copper-colored eyes, respectively) are the everyday constant in my life. I try not to veer into crazy, cat-lady territory (yes, I know kitten sittin' a third kitteh DOES seem suspicious, but it was temporary, mmm'kay?) what with living in a basement and all. But if you were able to witness Harry sidling up to your leg or flopping on his bag in order to maximize the amount of tummy rubs he could acquire... Or if you were to experience Penny's endless face rubs and kneading of the paws as she purrs ever louder... You would be smitten, too.
This is not to say that all is sugar and roses.
It is not.
Cats are animals. They fight and chew and claw things. They sometimes see fit to liberate themselves from the confines of their litter box. They'll paw your face at 4 in the morning and lay their entire body across your head until you can simply no longer ignore their burning desire to eat cat food, even though you know full well you fed them with said food not even 6 hours ago.
But like I said, they're animals.
And that's the good part, really. Sure, you get emotionally attached. I was away on business for one night this week and my hotel room was a black hole of non-cat sounds and activity; I did not know how to comprehend a pair of black pants carelessly tossed on the floor, yet fully fur-free the next morning. How would I sleep without random meows and goofy cat-wrestling? But I did. And I know that they're fine and I'm fine either way.
To be able to give an animal a good home, for whatever time period - be it kitten sittin' or not - is a gift. And I'm grateful for every moment. Thanks Harry. Thanks Penny. Even you two are little rascals sometimes...