My poor cats. Before Hugh, I treasured my cats. Took lots of pictures of them, told cute stories about them over dinner, made schmoopy sounds at them as I scratched under their chins, made room for them in my bed.

Now, I neglect their shots, protest when crawl in my bed, and moan when they crawl in my lap, “I can’t handle another living thing crawling on me!”

They’ve been incredibly patient with me and especially with Hugh. Between the tail pulling, the generous hugs, and the speeding scooter headed at them, there’s been nary a scratch.

I promise to pay them more attention soon, but in the meantime we do enjoy our weekend naps together.

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