Sunday, November 11, 2012

Guinness. Like the Beer, Not the Book

It's been five months since Guinness came to live with us. In that five months he has come to grudgingly trust us. He no longer runs when he sees us coming, nor does he hide timidly under furniture when we are present.

Instead, he runs to greet us at the door. He sleeps in our bed, tucked into the curve of my body or cuddled up behind my knees. He plays with Finnigan and, since the weather has recently become colder; he is getting to know Rowdie in person rather than separated by the glass of the french doors.

When I am in the kitchen, I can almost guarantee that I will find him at my feet, where, he will emit the most pathetic of meows (his voice is still relatively pitiful, it's sort of adorable) before dramatically throwing himself to the floor, desperate for a tummy rub.

He is the only cat that I have ever seen do somersaults, actual, over-the-top somersaults, and; he does that when he wants attention and love.

He is a total love bug, for sure and I am so thankful that we found him.

I'm thankful that we stuck with him long enough to allow him to love us, and, I'm grateful for having a husband who realized that a scrawny, matted fuzz ball was just what we needed to complete our fur family.

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