Thursday, November 30, 2006

Our small furry child

Our cat is ready to kill me, because I haven't written one word about him in here.

Sheeba is very vocal and often talks to us. For some reason, he has a Russian accent. (I guess he's a Black Russian.) He frequently tells us he hates us and is planning on slitting our throats while we sleep. (He's especially angry when his nails are trimmed and he knows he can't pierce our carotids.) At other times, he's all lovable and adoring, purring and licking my face, or flopping on his side and getting a belly rub. He is a cat of many moods. Perhaps he's angry to a certain extent because he is a male cat with a traditionally female name (and yes, his name is spelled with two e's). That was an honest mistake. Ken asked for a female cat, and the kids' mom gave him what she thought was a Sheeba got a little older, I said, "Honey...I think Sheeba has balls." It's hard to tell with kittens, but before too long, it was apparent that Sheeba was actually a Heeba.

He's a very entertaining cat, and I love him to pieces. He likes to come in and sleep by us, and he curls up right against us. There are many times that I have to adjust my legs around Sheeba, rather than disturb his sleep. I think most cat owners know exactly what I'm talking about!

[Sheeba is telling me, "Hurry up, Mom, put up my picture so everyone can see how handsome I am. Jeez."] He's so demanding. (And yeah, I know I'm sappy about our cat. Not gonna change any time soon, either.) Here's the critter in all his glory.

He says, "Yes. I stick my tongue out at you, stupid human."



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