When Jake moved back in the house, he brought cats. I'm not really a cat person, not really. We had cats growing up, one that was aloof and then some other strays, I'm not even really sure how we ended up with cats in the first place. (Mom? Shed some light?)
I was never completely bonded with any cat that we had, although my sister on the other hand apparently loved cats so much, the minute she moved out of our house she got two cats. Always. Still does. I digress.
Jake moved in, brought cats. I was apprehensive about these new additions, not so much the BABY that came with him but these little felines were more worrisome. I mean, what do I have to do? Litter boxes? Um. No. Would they get along with Oscar (yes, dog person for sure). Could I retrain them to go outside? Would they come back if I DID let them outside?
They were aloof for awhile as cats are and Leo became the brave one to come upstairs to see what was going on up here. He became quite fond of George but still aloof from me. Can they tell I'm not a cat person? I mean I do talk to them when they make an appearance. I was feeling a bit rebuffed by them, don't even get me started on Jaydee, she is a skeeeerrrd cat, although getting a wee bit braver. I think we all (me and the felines) tolerate each other.
So as I'm sitting here on the computer working, I see Leo gets his paw stuck in the sink strainer and I jumps up and yell "OH no! Leo!!! Kitty kitty, here I come!" Yeah, that's me. I helped him get his claw out and then inspect claw for any injuries while he is "meowing" a bit, to my dismay, because now I'm all worried the little furball is seriously injured. He's not. All is well, I go back to the computer and up jumps Leo in my lap, turns a few times, much like a dog and plops down on his rescuer.
Cats are okay.