Seven years ago today, I brought home the cutest cat. She was a rescue kitty. Her owners had moved out of their apartment and left her behind. I assume she was abused: She’s still afraid of my feet, and she has some funny attitudes toward her litter box and food.
Kiera is really only my kitty. She doesn’t interact much with other people, usually running and hiding when they come around.
But she is my joy. She races around like a crazy thing on a daily basis. I always compare her coat to bunny fur: It’s that thick and soft. When I come home after traveling, she usually sleeps on top of me for a couple of nights, just to remind me of where I belong. She’s opinionated, insists we play together often (she likes me to throw sparkly balls that she can then chase) and generally moves from room-to-room with me through out the day, so we can hang out together. That is, when it doesn’t disturb one of her naps.
Under the cut there are lots of pictures. Be warned!
Happy anniversary, Ms. Kiera.