I can’t remember the last time I posted a picture of my babies, maybe never, so here you go.
Jem is the gray one, and Cheetara is the brown one. I’m so beyond obsessed with them. Neither one of them is spayed, and we have plans on breeding them – if anyone knows of an available male ragdoll, PLEASE let me know. They’re driving me crazy. Whenever they yowl at me I swear they’re saying “Mooommm, moommmmm!” Like they’re calling for me.
One time I was on the phone with Kaiser trying to jump through all the red tape to get an appointment, and they started wandering through the house calling after me. They lady on the other end of the phone asked how old my baby was. I just told her she was three.
I know it’s totally crazy cat lady to talk about how intuitive your cat is. I know that this will immediately put me dangerously close to cat sweatshirt person territory, but I can’t help it. My cats are eerily intuitive. Shortly after the miscarriage I had a scary moment which led to me on the floor of the bathroom grabbing my stomach in pain. Jem freaked out. She was pacing all around me, yowling in my ear, licking my face, worried to death about what was happening. To this day, whenever I go back into that room she races after me to act as a spotter.
Here’s Jem being Mr. Bigglesworth:
Cheetara is my teddy bear. Literally. See?
This is her spot every night. We all sleep together like spoons in a drawer. While I was pregnant we would joke that she was being a mama bird because whenever I would lay down on the couch she would come and lay on my abdomen. Not my lap, specifically right on top of my uterus.
I don’t really know how I would have gotten through the past few years without these little fuzzy brats, and that makes me both incredibly grateful for them, and also a little worried about my mental health.