Sometimes, I am so disgusted by her. She has nasty habits…she buries her poop, rolls around in ecstasy on Nick's pile of sweaty running clothes, and plays with bugs. Why does she have to be such a…a…such an animal!?



It's my fault, really. In my imagination, Sophie is mostly human—I wouldn't have entire one-sided conversations with a cat, after all. She has a handful of ironic expressions that she cycles through depending on her level of disdain for my chatter, a moody glare that erupts when I have the audacity to put something of mine in her way, and a wide-eyed profession of total adoration for all the times in between.

She's two steps away from being my closest confident.

I've just taken the anthropomorphism too far. (I know this surprises you immensely.) As such, I am a little turned off when she starts behaving like a cat. One of our wedding presents was a pretty hanging plant. The day after our party, Nick brought it into the living room while we prepared a place for it. Meanwhile, a stowaway deposited himself on the floor. Sophie got her bully on and started pushing him around—trying for intimidation so that she could overpower him, obviously.

Meanwhile, I could only see the scene from Lion King when Timon picks up a squishy bug and talks about it being cream-filled. I started to gag, squeaking for Nick to get rid of him before Sophie could finish him off! He could tell that it wasn't a time to torment me because I was horrified that she might actually put that nasty thing in her mouth.

To distract Sophie while he took care of business, I topped off the water in her mug and we settled in to gossip about the family who just moved in down the road.