Supposedly, most cats are solitary beings—they are not pack animals like dogs. Animal behaviorists have speculated if a cat has the capacity to bond with a human or if they only depend on humans to satisfy their physical needs. The debates lasts because no one can really answer that but a cat.

I've been around cats nearly all of my life, and before Sophie I would attest to the solitary behavior. They would come around to snuggle with me when they wanted something, otherwise they were content to disappear and ignore me completely. They held grudges, and sometimes they were downright catty. I still loved cats even though they could take me or leave me—and I even kind of understood the mood swings, particularly during those teenage years. I had a dog to love me unconditionally, so I didn't need that kind of devotion from a cat. I didn't need those heart-melting eyes staring at me like I am the best thing in the whole world.

Oh yes, I would have agreed that cats were frigid animals who lowered their standards to let us pet them now and then.

I was quite smitten with Bandit when my aunts adopted their long-haired tabby. Brenda started telling me about a breed of cat who look a lot like Bandit but a whole lot bigger (she was a wisp of a thing): the Maine coon. I started to research the breed…in no time, I was hooked.

They were said to be affectionate, gentle giants with kitten-like playfulness that lasts into adulthood. Sophie is a dog in cat's clothes, just what I was looking for. Nick likes to rub that bit in when I am frustrated up to my eyeballs with the fuzzy thing doing her best to trip me, winding through my legs as soon as I walk through the door. She stands on her back paws with her front paws on my leg to beg me to stop and love her, and i just cannot resist that vulnerable "You're my everything" look she has in her eyes.

So was the case when the picture above was taken. It was one of the first truly beautiful Saturdays of the year, so Nick and I took advantage of Mother Nature's gift with a hike. We came home, showered, redressed, and drove to a friend's house where we spent several hours. When I walked into the living room after, it was a full-on Sophie assault. If she had been a dog, she would have knocked me over in her excitement to have us home.

We found ourselves nodding all the way through the breed characteristics in the video below when we saw it on TV—though when they talk about size, they're only talking about males (females have smaller frames, but still bigger than other breeds). Sophie would probably need help rolling over if she weighed 25 pounds. We find ourselves very lucky to have a dog who poops in a box.

I've had to work today. I have more to do yet tonight…but as the work on my project involves coding, I need an intellectual reset. Any HTML tinkering that I might have to do to blog isn't real programming, so this counts as a suitable break.

I woke up with a raging headache—probably knowing what was in store for me today. I was having trouble debugging a long section of code because it was irksome staring at the computer screen when it felt like I needed to drill a hole in my skull to relieve some of the pressure.

So, I printed the bit problematic programming—about six pages— and wanted to tape the pages end-to-end to have one nice long string of gobbledegook to decipher. I placed the papers on the floor on the living room and set about lining them up to tape.

Do you have any concept how difficult a tiny project like this is when you're a perfectionist? After taking care to align two pages, often putting my face an inch or so from the seam to make sure it lined up along the entire eight-and-a-half inches, a pent up exhale would flutter my work askew.

I finally got the breathing thing figured out and was making good progress when Sophie decided that I was having fun without her: she wanted to play the game too. She always finds my frustration entertaining and does what she can to feed the fire. She lay in wait while I painstakingly matched one page to another. Finally happy to the millimeter with the placement, I slowly (so as not to disturb the air current) leaned back to grab the tape.

Just then, she burst from her crouched position and skidded across my line of printouts, sending them scattering. Rolling over in bliss, she looked back at me with her dazzled eyes as if to say, "Dude, let's do that again!"

This is what happens when I'm giving more attention to the camera than I am to the fuzzy gray thing wrapped around my legs.

…so violent when she doesn't get her way…I think we'll be able to save the foot, thanks for the concern.

So, you all know that Sophie has an unhealthy relationship with food. The good news is that we're winning. Sophie's weight is down, and she moves fluidly with her new, lighter body.

Lest you think the whittle of our cat's girth to be for aesthetic reasons of any kind, you should know that I love snuggling with a chubby cat: Garfield lovers unite!

But Sophie is a Maine Coon. The two main health problems associated with this breed are renal failure (we're already on top of that one) and hip dysplasia. Hip dysplasia can lead to crippling arthritis down the road, and extra weight increases the probability of that future. I don't want her golden years to be painful…I hope we've helped to keep the enemy at bay.

One of the most useful weapons in our little diet war has been the automatic feeder. It has single-handedly redirected Sophie's ire and reduced the likelihood that either Nick or I would break down and sneak her an extra bit of food (she's so damned cute…an admitted weakness on our part).

I often think what the life of a cat is like. Wake, eat, play, use the litter box, drink, groom, sleep, wake, eat, play…an exercise in tedium, really. It should be of little surprise that she has mastered the feeder schedule, but I find it more than a little sad. Once we are within 60 minutes of the disbursement time, she takes her place. Sometimes she rests, sometimes the rolls around, and sometimes she simple stares at the bowl. She revels in the anticipation. Oh, kitty…

It was 8:00 last night. Nick was snoring on the couch. Sophie was across the room, snoring on her perch. It was such a cute picture with both of them on their backs, mouths open, completely checked out. Ever-so-slowly, I reached for the nearest camera…which just happened to be my phone.

Sophie's head shot up: movement! A human is awake to give me attention!

She's such a couch potato that I am surprised when she displays catlike reflexes. (I guess it's not really catlike since she actually is a cat…but, it's just so easy to forget.)

After a quick stretch, she leaped from her perch and galloped toward me to jump on my lap. This was the picture I got instead.