“He’s still not sure about me.”
Wilderness Dad is referring to the cat, Percy. He’s been with us for five months now. Percy loves me. He jumps up into bed to cuddle and if my husband even looks at him, he bolts.
“It’s been 15 years and I’m not sure about you,” I said. He set himself up for that one.
He looked genuinely surprised by my joke.
“Nah, I’m sure about you.”
“Yeah, what is it that you’re sure about?”
“Well,” I said laughing, “that’s a big question!”
I’m not going to touch that one.
I’m sure that the cat is not going to warm up to him. Percy (full name Perseus Jackson) is picky. And for the first time ever, one of our pets has chosen to like me better than him. They all seem to think he’s the ruler of the castle.
Everywhere we go, kids and dogs jump all over him and beg him to play. Animals typically love him. If we visit a farm, the cows make their way over to say hello, like he’s Dr. Dolittle. Clearly, there isn’t any psychic communication going on here. If they could truly read him, they would know he’s thinking about dinner.
Our sweet dog, found and rescued by me and loved obsessively like one of my children, prefers him. Look how well she sits for him to take her picture:
I love her anyway. How could I refuse that face?
This cat though, he’s got serious taste and he’s highly intelligent. He knows who takes care of him. He loves me.
I’m totally and completely sure about him.