Laura: “Don’t you just love that basket!? All of the books and magazines are tidy under the coffee table now!”
Nick: “It’s a basket.”
Laura: “Yeah, but don’t you think it looks really nice there?”
Nick: “I’m a guy. It’s a basket.”
Laura: “I got it on clearance! It was $37.99 marked down to $7.49!”
Nick: “I love the basket.”
After our week away, I fear our little kitty with never look at suitcases with the same innocent cordiality as she did a month ago when she saw her first. Indeed, she has been beating up the luggage that I borrowed from Debbie and Brenda, showering an array of karate chops and donkey kicks to the piece of devilry that stole her parents away for seven days straight. Mean, stupid suitcase.
Nick and I went to see Superbad last night. I had wanted to see it as more and more I am finding Jonah Hill ridiculously funny. Nick had good recommendations on it from a friend at work, a friend who said that if we enjoyed Knocked Up (we did), we would LOVE Superbad (we did).
The final credits began rolling and we stood up, Nick saying, “That might be good enough to own.”
I agreed, adding, “I wanna get Knocked Up.” The heads of the people in the rows ahead of us twitched in our direction.
Nick, sounding somewhere between a rooster and Gilbert Gottfried, screamed, “WHAT!? We need to talk about this!”
By that pouty little look she’s giving me, been giving me since I started yesterday afternoon, you’d think my decision to complete my degree was a personal dig. Oh, the guilt! I find myself needing to close the door against her onslaught, the way she slams her body into mine, the almost electric purr that has her body trembling visibly, and the mournful meow that says all too clearly that she is always supposed to be number one.
So far, Nick is taking it much better, but then again, this is only the “official” first day. Needless to say, posts may become even fewer and farther in between while I figure out how to juggle my time. Meanwhile, be thinking of the fuzzy tailed mongrel who is, even now, pawing at my leg for me to throw her favorite orange jingly ball.
Nick thinks she looks like a question mark in this picture…which is a very accurate description of her personality. It was actually taken about a month ago, but I woke up this morning, realizing I hadn’t yet written a Sophie Sunday post…which I typically do when she does something cute (or irritating) and then postdate the entry. Well, it has been a busy week, if not anxious. Then, we were gone all Friday night at the Brewers game, and all day Saturday at the Badgers game. Needless to say, our little kitty has been very naughty vying for attention.
You see her jump on the table and shout, “Sophie! No!” She jumps off. Thirty second later, she jumps back on and you shout again, “SOPHIE! GET DOWN!” and clap your hands for good measure. A third time she jumps up and you’re so mad that you don’t say anything at first, just look at her with your death stare and hope that it will sever her naughty streak. When that doesn’t seem to work, you move to get up. It doesn’t take much movement because she knows she’s being bad and runs to the other room.
We fell asleep on the couch at 7:00 last night, and stayed in bed until almost 7:00 this morning, when our little fuzz ball let us know that it was time to get up and that she would take no more of this laziness. I groaned and flopped to my stomach. Nick pulled the blankets tighter around his face and pinched his eyes shut. Then she began her aerial assault, launching herself onto my back and pouncing down to chew on my toes. I withstood the attack for a long time, ignoring her completely, before admitting to myself that I was very much awake and that staying in bed was very much futile.
With time now elapsed and my frustration cooled, I can appreciate that she isn’t trying to be a pest. She only wants to spend time with us…she only wants someone to cuddle with and to play with…and how wonderful that an animal known for their standoffishness could actually learn to love.