Full of whimsy and the stuff of smiles, she rolls on her back and twists, pawing at the air and the fancy only she can see. We should all know such content.

Sure, we'll call it that :-)

Yesterday, I finally loaded Photoshop on my new laptop. So, with an image editing suite at my fingertips, I reviewed the collection of files saved to my picture card. I came across the picture below and had to share. There is something that gets me every time when I see a strong hand administer a gentle touch.

Nick and Sophie:

So, after a very childish spitting contest last night under the bed, I told Sophie that there would be no more treats in the morning, no more Fancy Feast in the evening—not until she starts behaving like a proper young lady. Until then, she only gets dry food and water. Nothing special. I don't know how many times I've scolded from the other room, "Sophie, we don't get on kitchen counters here unless you're me!" and it doesn't seem to strike a chord.

She dragged my iPod around yesterday, and carried around my party favor from Saturday's baby shower before turning to Nick's keys—she's buried mine in her litter box in the past—but I suppose that we should be thankful that she is now leaving plants alone...although, I was waxing poetic over the bouquet of lily of the valley my aunts had given me and how much I loved the dainty little flowers (they're my favorite!!!) when Nick pointed out gently that Sophie must love them too as I spotted a helpless little stem strewn across the floor.

This morning, belatedly, she came downstairs and stared at the place on the floor where I usually set treats. It was bare. Slowly, she turned her mournful little eyes up to me and sniffed, walking towards me in a contrived, I'm-weak-with-hunger wobble. "Do you want treats, Sophie?" I asked, immediately upset with myself for letting her get so emaciated and set a sizable handful at her feet.

But, honestly, I think I made my point.

Saturday, I received confirmation that my new shiny laptop had shipped, estimated delivery for the end of this week. I knew the package would require a signature and that I would be unable to sign for it—that whole "work" thing. I tried to have the shipping address changed to Nick's work address, but Dell told me that to process the change, they would need to cancel the order completely and start from the top, restarting the waiting process. Well, at that point I had already been waiting a week and I was anxious and said, "Never mind. Forget I called." When I checked tracking yesterday, I saw that it was out for delivery, and immediately called DHL, telling them to put a hold on the package and I would pick it up from their center on my way home from work. When I called at 4:00, they confirmed that the package the truck was on had returned, and I practically skipped through the work parking lot to get to my car.

I'm still in the process of making it mine, but LOVE the high gloss screen and am pretty sure that I HATE Windows Vista (the boogers at Dell wouldn't let me choose an outdated OS to load!) who insists on asking my permission for every little thing. You just clicked to open Firefox. I need your permission to open Firefox. May I open Firefox? Huh? Please? Can I?—Oh, I can? Are you sure? But that isn't even the half of it...the stupid OS wasn't sure of the validity of a MICROSOFT APPLICATION. I think I even shouted aloud on a sarcastic bark of laughter, "IT'S MSCONFIG!" Just when I thought Microsoft couldn't release an operating system worse than ME.

But it's powerful machine, I can't complain—being a graphics artist as long as I was, I'm power hungry with my computers and it's a hot lil thing. I haven't determined gender yet, or what name suits it best (Nick is somewhere rubbing his face and repeating my refrain, Who am I DATING?), but the bonding will come...with this ward, I know it will. As Sophie sprinted down the stairs yesterday and hunched down to look at us before peeling away again, I shouted with Nick at my side (we were both looking adoringly at the laptop), "See, this is what happens! When someone brings you into their home, YOU LET THEM LOVE YOU."

Really, Sophie's got us played out. She has loads of toys, she gets treats and canned food, and she knows she doesn't have to try too hard to win us over because we've now spent enough money on her that it is inconceivable that we'd turn her over to the wolves. A stark constrast from the kitten who snuggled with us a few weeks ago, I like to think of these as her teenage years...nail spitting little snot...whom I love.

Our kitten has taken to sleeping with us—or, rather, flipping, flopping, and squirming erratically while she plays with the covers (or Nick's feet). The sounds from her prolific little collar bell chatter with her metal tag, and Nick and I were both awake and groaning at 3:30.

Nick sat up to look at her, and she sprinted away (to return moments later once we were settled in again). He mumbled grumpily, "She needs to be taught that the bed's not a play area." I wonder if she'll pout and start looking at personal ads like I did when he taught me.