In which I admit to being a Cat Lady.

If ever I spew children forth from my loins (and let's hope said children have daddy's good looks and mommy's well, how about they just BELONG to mommy) and I love them an ounce as much as I love The Cats, they'll be darn lucky. And also very spoiled. And I hopefully won't feed them from bowls on the floor. And I'll probably let them use the toilet. (Now that I think about it, I should teach The Cats to use the toilet... But that's for another day). And maybe I won't pet them and call them things like Mama Chuck or Harlequin Robert.

Maybe having children would be QUITE interesting.

Back to the point. I LOVE MY CATS. Love. Love, love. Love SO much, I could burst with cat love. And it would be quite messy because, well, The Cats ARE rather messy, and it would require sweeping and wiping and the spraying of Febreze. Most likely.

I recently discovered this unabashed love for my felines quite recently, as I sat in my studio apartment - no TV, no internet, no roommate. Just cats. And I thought, HOLY CRAP, I would DIE without my small, random fur creatures to keep me occupied. Harley, climbing up the walls, etc. Chicken, eating dinner too fast and puking it up on my computer desk.

But mostly, they're so PRECIOUS. And who would care for them and love them if I didn't? I shudder at the thought. They are NEEDY. Harley is an attention whore. And Chicken? She meows and meows for attention, and then once you touch her, she hides. And as soon as you turn your back, she meows again. And you play this game back and forth for 17 minutes until you want to scream (with love, of course).

And the whole time Harley is sprawled at your feet thinking, WHY ARE YOU NOT LOOKING AT ME, HI, I EXIST AND I'M NOODLE-Y AND PICK ME UP NOW! And then when you ignore her, she makes a peculiar, gutteral growl and starts climbing walls and leaping onto random furniture objects. And Chicken's still, MEOW MEOW MEOW (hide) MEOW MEEEOW (hide) MEOW (hide) MEOOOOOW MEOW (HIDE HIDE HIDE HIDE!)

And I LOVE them for all of this.

So Harley's growling and Chicken's meowing and I'm loving. And you should just SEE US, all alone, meowing, growling and loving.

But this morning, I sat down on the bed, and Chicken came bursting from her brooding corner and leapt into my lap. After I picked my jaw up off the floor (Hi, Chicken does NOT just jump into your lap. Oh, no. She has class), I stared in wonderment as she curled herself into the groove of my lap. And she purred. And I loved her. And I curled down, stuck my face into the warm fur of the back of her neck, and smelled her familiar Chicken smell, listened to her purr, and realized what just might be the most comforting sound. And smell.

And then, of course, as soon as she realized, CRAP, Human is touching me, she left. But for that 24 seconds, she was the most precious animal in the world. And then I had to go pick up Harley and love her, because I can't let her get jealous. If I pet one, I have to pet the other. And also, Harley's still an attention whore.

So I swooped up my noodle of a cat, and blanketed her with cat-appropriate smooches. Until she slipped out of my grip and began climbing walls.

I love my cats. I would be rather empty without them here. Between the sound of their purrs, the smell of their fur, the sound of The Fiance's heartbeat before bed and the smell of his body wash leftover on his skin, I couldn't be more comforted by anything.

Except maybe Chicken Noodle Soup from Mom. And that's Campbell's soup, NOT my cat.