Here I sit, bleary eyed, hysterical, at the end of my rope with a non-sleeping baby and nighttime party-animal cats. I am ready to say anything. I am ready to tell the truth...

... the truth is that, as much as Otis is incredibly irritating, I (drum roll please), ... l-l-l-l-love him to bits and couldn't imagine life without him. Why?

1. He picked me. He reached through the bars of his cage and attached himself firmly onto my shirt and has never really let go.

2. He was out stalking a flock of birds yesterday, an unexpectedly warm spring-feeling day, after being cooped up inside for months. When I whistled to him, his neck whiplashed back against his will and his body started coming to me. He followed me around the block with the kids a couple of times, even enduring snowball target practice from my 2½ year old. He will follow me anywhere. The only thing that ranks higher than being with me is being in the middle of killing something. Seriously. That includes eating cat food and tussling with the neighbourhood kitties.

3. He will disturb his sleep just to be with me. How many other kitties do you know will periodically check to see if their human is the room with them. If they're not, actually GET UP from their nap to find them? He does this. He gets up, finds me, goes to sleep. I leave the room, he gets up, finds me, goes to sleep.

4. He won't go to bed until I do. He circles and prowls and yowls until I get into bed - ignoring Fred, Jane or Sam. There's only one person with whom he cares to snuggle.

5. He's infinitely expressive. His voice cracks me up. Along with the soulful poor me yowls are the chirrups and meows and "I need food" and "I need out" phrases. My personal favourite is the incessant chatting punctuated by his *own* yawns at the same time he's meowing. "Meooooooooooooowawnnnnnnnnnn".

6. Along with his voice, his actions are so expressive. I'm starting to think that he's actually smart. He yowls to get my attention, waits to get my attentionyuh,j 3 (that was Otis!), and then leads me to what his problem is: an empty food dish, the water dish, the door to Outside. I think that's really quite with it.

7. His ridiculous gait. He's a huge long lanky creature with boundless enthusiasm. When he runs, he kicks his heels a way up in the air and they flail out behind him, much like a young colt when a storm is coming. He has unselfconscious enthusiasm.

8. Despite all of this extroverted needy behaviour, he will occasionally strike a self-possessed show cat pose worthy of his regal Siamese ancestors. Between that and the displays of raw athleticism as he jumps from trees and leaps in the air, it can be awe inspiring.

9. I can rarely do anything without him. The usual like the shower, bathroom, breakfast lunch and dinner - and the newsgroup and computer. I write most of my posts with him stretched out on my wrists. I have to guard the keyboard from his cross country ramblings. He sits on my journal when I write, the paper when I try to read...

... wait a minute. He's starting to sound a little irritating again. What possessed me to make this confession?

Copyright © Susan Mawdsley
March 10, 2001