I have been in the process of organizing old digital photos to transfer to an image storage site (Flickr), and I have had fun looking through the past few years. A lot of smiles have come from Sophie's first year with us, when she was all round eyes and fluffy tail (she grew into them, let me tell you).

It was August 2006 when a surgeon told me that I was probably unable to have children. I latched onto "probably" quite desperately as I recovered from that series of surgeries. Probably meant there was still a chance.

That next year was dedicated to figuring out the nuances of everything that was wrong with me. Of course, being that I have a very rare genetic disorder sparks a lot of interest from various specialists. I bet that I didn't really need half of those appointments, and I did start to feel like I was a bit of a freak show for the medical community's entertainment.

It was through the course of those appointments that probably turned into a definite no…any slight chance that may have burned was promptly extinguished. Then came Sophie…and so begins the life of the most spoiled cat on the face of the planet.

When Nick shot this video Friday night, I admit that me and my cousin were embarrassed by the sound of our raucous laughter. Yet, I find myself sharing it here.

To set the stage for you, Michelle came over Friday night to help rice potatoes for a planned lefse day (which didn't work out). Nick asked hopefully if she would be staying for awhile…because then he could coerce the two of us into a board game…namely, Beatles Trivial Pursuit. We actually have a few versions of Trivial Pursuit between the two of us, but I'm afraid that we do not play board games all that often—which is a shame because some of the funniest conversations of my recollection have happened during this sort of play.

When Nick and I started seeing each other, we had a no-TV night every week. During this one sacred night, we participated in technology-free activities such as Yahtzee, Scrabble, and various trivia games. This, as with so many other good habits we used to have, fell by the wayside when I re-enrolled in my B.S. program (pun intended). I could not afford a technology free night when there was always something due—either for work or one of my classes.

Now that the novelty of sitting on the couch with absolutely nothing to do has worn thin, I am trying to make the effort to practice my social skills once more.

But the Beatles, ah. The Beatles. I have spent my life loving The Beatles. I dragged Michelle into the obsession somewhere in the early 90s, and she's been infected ever since. Being that Nick is painfully unappreciative and knowledgeable of THE GREATEST BAND OF ALL TIME, his request to play that particular board game seemed all the more desperate. So, we played.

And how we laughed…and laughed, and laughed—mainly at Nick's answers because he seriously got the most difficult questions of the night. I wouldn't have known all that information on Brian Epstein either, but he made best of it and entertained us for hours. We were so amused that we laughed easily and boisterously at just about anything. And with that, I introduce the fuzziest player in our game:

Nick and I were out of town for a few days last week. Since Sophie is fed daily, we need to impose on a family and friends to take care of her whenever we are gone. We have a backup caretaker, and a backup backup caretaker—but both were also out of town last weekend. My friend Becky, who lives in the same town, offered to stop in and take care of her. She recently rescued a cat of her own, and she's got a little kitty fever going on. (Of course, it may just be allergies.)



Becky has been in my home before, several times actually. Unfortunately, she has never stayed long enough for Sophie to decide whether or not she's safe. Our cat yearns to be social—sometimes aggressively loving—but she still has a knee-jerk (paw-jerk?) reaction of fear with new people. You just need to sit down for awhile, keep your voice soft, and pay her absolutely no attention at all. I guarantee you that she'll be drawn to you within minutes.

I warned Becky of this so that she wouldn't take it personally if my cat got one look of her and bolted. When new people so much as look at Sophie, she flattens her ears and sprints toward a hiding place as if the very devil is on her tail. (And I thought that I didn't like attention!)

We arrived back in Madison Tuesday night. I talked with Becky the next day when I picked up my key. As I suspected, Sophie didn't let her near. She said that Sophie took "evasive action" when she so much as breathed in her direction. I keep snickering at the phrase "evasive action" as applied to my fuzzy, pampered house cat…but basically, Sophie spent the weekend completely alone.

I suppose that explains why she almost took me to the ground in her excited vigor when I first walked through the door. Oh, Sophie. If only you would be so capriciously cute for everyone who stopped by…

We have a chewer. I don't think we have a cord free of tooth marks in the entire place. I have tried just about everything I can think of to dissuade her, but nothing works. That cat just likes to gnaw, end of story.

The Christmas tree has been in jeopardy for weeks, but until recently she has saved her most passionate chewing for times when Nick and I are gone. Knowing she has the upper hand in our relationship, figuratively speaking of course, she's no longer hiding her activities. Finally sick of having to be on guard and having to raise my voice, I went to my last resort: the bitter spray.

It's a "no chew" formula that is supposed to taste just awful. The awfulness should send a message to little cat brains that chewing isn't fun at all (because it tastes lousy, duh). I bought the spray earlier this year when I identified a risk with new wicker baskets. I hate (absolutely hate!) using it.

It's not because I care about the poor plight of the cat. I have no sympathy for any discomfort she might experience while doing something she knows she shouldn't be doing. It's because when I use the spray, it somehow releases bitter particles around the entire room. Even though I didn't chew anything, I can't get the awful taste out of my mouth!

Meanwhile, Sophie is unaffected. She's curious why I'm spraying things. She walks up to the tree after I douse the bottom branches and sniffs. I put my hands on my hips and watch her with an arched eyebrow, daring her to take a bite. Never breaking eye contact with me, I see her tongue inching out the side of her mouth to reach the closest branch.

Obstinance!

But the in-your-face defiance is the least of my irritation: she's chewing the tree more now than she was before I sprayed the so called "no chew" formula. I felt a growl in my throat as I watched her and considered washing my own mouth out with soap.

I think that some conniving cat must have the patent on that bitter spray. They always frickin' win. Always.

It's always a little stressful having a Christmas tree (albeit fake) AND a cat. For the most part, I don't decorate the last 12 inches or so of tree because it's just safer that way. I do hang the two ornaments that Sophie received as gifts (one from Nick's mom and one from my aunt) low for her to enjoy.

We walked in this afternoon after spending the weekend away. We were fully expecting at least something out of place, but everything was just as we left it several days before. We praised her for not being destructive—we gave her bonus treats and everything!

Once we sat down in the living room, however, she realized she had an audience. It's so much more fun being naughty if someone knows about it, of course: