Meet my cat, Chloe. That was her a year ago when she was a baby; now she looks much the same but slightly bigger and a little more grown into her ears. She thinks she is a dog and will play fetch with a wine cork or, recently, a pencil eraser for hours. She especially likes to drop them into a shoe or behind the piano and try to fish it out until she gives up. If, however, she succeeds, she trots over with it in her mouth, drops it on the couch or floor next to whomever she has chosen for her play partner, and waits expectantly for the next good toss.
This is all well and good until one wakes up to a cork being dropped in the face in the middle of the night - just after one has wiggled into a comfortable position amidst the pillows, blankets, and burgeoning extra mass on one's pregnant belly.
She is an ideal cat in almost all other ways; she loves to cuddle, follows me around for attention but accepts it if I'm too busy for her, and she loves to play. I've thought about perfecting her by training her to walk on a leash so she can go on outings with us... but I always reject this idea in the end since it seems so wrong to put a cat on a leash.
She has a big shock in store when our baby comes and demands that she share her time with me... she has been my baby for the past year and I think she knows and takes full advantage of this fact. I keep trying to warn her, but for some reason, for all the intelligence in her eyes, I think she's in denial...
(8 days until ULTRASOUND!! Just had to mention it...)