I’m going to have to admit that I’m a cat person. I mean, I absolutely love dogs too but I just don’t happen to be the proud owner of one. I somehow was made into a cat person by my ex-boyfriend, who happened to be the biggest proponent for cats ever. After our heinous breakup, I ended up with the cat and thankfully dodged a bullet by refusing to move to the East Coast for him.
What was left in my life was me, myself, and my cat, Lucille. We tolerated each other when my ex was in the picture but now we were stuck together. We’ve ended up getting along really well and she’s probably the best cat I’ve ever encounter, to be honest. I’d call myself lucky, even though Lucille has found a new place to hang out and hardly spends time with me anymore. The neighbors across the street have a porch that’s three times the size of mine and she gets all the attention from the girls over there but whatever, it’s not like it hurts my feelings or anything. (If you can’t tell, it does hurt my feelings and I’m f*cking sad about it all the time, haha)
Other than refusing to spend time with me, my cat doesn’t do all the normal a**hole things that other cats do like: clawing at your face as a morning wake-up call, hiding behind doors ready to attack ankles, bring in dead animals they’ve killed while outside, or my favorite – hoarding all the tiny trinkets you never knew were missing. These cats are the prime example of cute and crazy, as shown by their ability to hide all the things.