He's come to us from my mother-in-law, who's pretty ill and needs to concentrate on taking care of herself. At first, I thought it would be a short-term fling, but it looks like Murky and I are in for some pretty serious commitment.
We've had our ups and downs. You may know I'm allergic to cats and that my own cat lives with my parents in their farmhouse with their other cat, Harvey. I'd say at some point I've had to acknowledge that he's their cat now. He's happier there.
But what he lacks in the very fact of him being a cat and his catly behavior (shedding, wanting routines, eschewing change, disliking strange smells, including his own litter box, loving food, time on laps, petting, playing string, love from owners in general, and letting you know unequivocally when you're not meeting those needs) he makes up for in cuteness and friendliness.
Murky likes drawers with a passion. He loves to play and will play with his tail if nothing else is handy. He has a way of getting into your heart. And getting his fur into tight corners. And puking when he eats too much. He desperately wants to be helpful when you're packing, so he lays on the clothes you've set out and plays with the socks, bra straps and belts you're loading in. His playfulness reminds me that I haven't smiled or laughed in a while.
He's pretty happy when I'm sick or have a migraine as it means he can lie on me all day on the couch. He reminds me how important it is to take a break, to be good to oneself.
And if we've left him alone too long, haven't given him enough attention, or changed his food or didn't change his litter, he lets us know he's pissed off and gives us shit, literally. He reminds me how important it is to ask for what you need. To demand it. (I just don't happen to approve of his methods. Looks like I should teach him to talk out his problems.)
Welcome to the family, Murky. Despite my best efforts, you're entrenched in the mushy part of my heart.
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