She’s His Cat

I married a man with a cat last fall.  Sweetie the cat, adopted when his daughter moved, is the empress of the domain. ( and I am fine with that because she never enters my studio.).

The persnickety puss loves moving water.  She has an endearing meow which I interpret as, “Get that faucet turned on now.  I am languishing.”  She prefers that her human serve her, immediately.  This is a well established pattern for both cat and man.

I turned on the faucet today.  The slow head turn, the inaudible sigh, the unmistakable disdain.  She’s all cat, but she still pussy-footed her way to the water.

The Creative Sprint task for today: do someone else’s role.