I’m not ashamed to say it: I am trying to encourage the fur ball to love me more.
Since we moved in with Himself, Norman has….well, Norman has transferred his affections. I suspect he is in love with Himself. I should have seen the signs back in Pog Towers last year:
But it’s worse now. When Himself is at work, Norman mostly languishes on His side of the bed, presumably inhaling deeply. When it gets to 6.50pm, he moves outside to sit on the shed roof so he can watch Him walk down the road home from work. When Himself was away for a week a while back, Norman spent hours waiting and watching, before completely ignoring me and buggering off for the evening to play elsewhere. (Judging by the barking and the speed he occasionally emerges over the fence, I suspect ‘elsewhere’ is mostly winding up the teeny terriers next door).
So, today is international cat day and Norman, I want to tell you that you are the very best fur ball there is. Having to tell someone on a call today that I needed them to repeat what they’d said, because while I tried to take notes, you had chewed the top of the biro and made my handwriting illegible wasn’t so bad. Having to apologise on a team call for the fact that all anyone could see on the video screen was your backside will eventually be forgotten. And at some stage I might forgive you for deleting that very long email while you tried to tell me it was time for tea.
I suppose it doesn’t matter. Especially when you pose for Himself and He gets a photo this good:
Happy International Cat Day, Norman. You’re my best furball, even if I’m not quite your best Hooman :o)