Something a little different today: (far past) time I introduced you to the cat, since cats are what the internet was made for, even if we didn't know it at the time.
Ani (short for Aniseed) came to live with us in January 2014.
I knew the moment we got her in the car home that we’d picked the right kitten for us:
At the time, I wanted a cat because I'd lived too long without one, and I felt it was important to raise Squawk with pet/s. And I wanted a Burmese because I grew up with the breed and I honestly can't imagine having cats in the house without at least one being a Burmese. I've always loved the breed. Burmese owners will know why; those who have no knowledge of the breed will glaze over if I try to explain it and a cat's nature is always more than the sum of its parts anyway. Suffice to say: time and again I've seen Burmese win the unguarded affection of even people who staunchly hate cats.
Right from the start, she slept … as only the dangerously relaxed can.
She's immensely patient with Squawk and her displays of affection, and whenever Squawk gets her way they do pretty much everything together:
Up to and including bonding over their shared pining for Outside
Truth be told, I nursed a secret hope that Ani would help entertain Squawk and thus maybe free up a scant few extra seconds a day I could squirrel away for my writing. What actually happened was that Ani fascinated and enthralled Squawk and those "few extra seconds" snowballed into hours … all of which I had to use playing referee/lifeguard between the two. Oops.
In fact, it's fair to say the only contribution Ani makes toward my writing is to hinder and hamper it at every turn. From demanding cuddles whenever Squawk is in bed, and those cuddles having to be affairs where she burrows into my neck, thereby needing an arm to support her squirming weight until I get cranky enough to put her down; to climbing fly-screens and bookshelves whenever I dare approach the writing desk; to tearing up and down the corridors, yelling, for the sake of enjoying her own speed and noise, she is, unequivocally, crazy.
As I write this, in fact, she is sitting on the floor, glaring up at the top of the fridge with her tail lashing and her ears back, yelling at it for being too tall. (Burmese!)
But she is also the snuggliest, feistiest and friendliest cat I ever met, and I can't begrudge her a psychological tic or two, given the company inflicted on her.
And she still sleeps like the dangerously relaxed