You are just about the cutest thing in the world. I do feel slightly disloyal to my other kitty back in Michigan for loving you so intensely after just a few hours. But oh sweet Moses, you are cute and fuzzy and so aggressively in need of my love that you just wipe all of that away.
You are a bloody expensive acquisition, do you know that? Between your adoption fees to the Nazi-Esque Animal League of Northern Virginia, pet fees to the landlord and purchase of the organic kitty food they fed you with, you are the equivalent of a new iPod and several pairs of very good shoes. None of those items, however, are capable of posing on my windowsill or headbutting my shin with such adorable glee. You, my sweet girl, are oh so very worth it.
Sadie, you have this incredibly sweet habit of lifting your butt in the air whenever I pet you in a manner that approaches your belly. God, that's cute. You may leave a grayish-white fuzz over everything I own, you may shred my really nice (though cheaply obtained) couch with your front claws, but hoist your hindquarters up with gratefulness and look at me with those big green eyes and we'll be okay. You and me, girl-- we're a team, and I promise to take care of you and buy you kitty food and pet you and not holler at you TOO much when you rip up my furniture.
I don't know who had you before me or how it is you wound up in an organization for abandoned animals. You are so cute and affectionate that no one in their right mind could ever leave you alone to the elements. Watching you curl up in the crook of my arm, knead my sweatshirt blanket with your little white paws and hear your purr-factory throat tell me just how content you are in my home, my heart swells up. I don't want to go to work tomorrow; I just want to spend all day dangling a string in your face and watching TV with you curled in a furry, purring heap on my lap. I'm so glad you're here and that we are going to take care of one another.
You and me, baby girl.