I never wanted to be one of those people. You know the kind. Obsessed with something in their lives, be it their children or their pets or their significant other. We’ve all got a few of those oversharey (is that a word?) obsessed friends whose status updates populate our Facebook feeds.
My obsession is not my boyfriend (though I do love him) and it’s not my non-existent children. It’s my cat. My fuzzy, giant, weird noise-making, adopted goofball of a cat.
I try not to talk about him. I try not to share stories about waking up at four in the morning to the sound of purring in my right ear before he headbutts my shoulder or face or whatever part of my body is in the vicinity. No one but me and my boyfriend care about how cute it is when he sits in the hallway with his front paws crossed, looking like he’d love nothing more than to share his thoughts on how to solve the health care crisis. But I want to share these stories. I want to take videos of him attacking a kitchen towel. I like it when he makes cute little chirp noises and licks my hand.
To satisfy my own personal desire to give in to the “ISN’T HE CUTE??!?!?!?!?!?” overshare urge that has become such a huge part of our interconnected lives, I dedicate this post to Tully, an adorable fuzzball who has made my life richer since he entered it. (I also wanted an excuse to post this clip.)