…I should probably add that they’re not completely oblivious.
After all, if Mitch and I are in different rooms, Gunner seems to make a point of stopping by whatever room I’m in periodically, as if to check in. He moseys on up to me, bumps my knee with a wet nose and meows, before sauntering back from whence he came.
When we first moved into our new apartment and going to the bathroom involved a trip down the long, dark hall, he actually got up with me, three times a night, and escorted me down the hall to the new bathroom. Sweet.
And for the first few months of my pregnancy, Sparrow thought my belly was the best thing since the heating vent, and any time I lay down for a nap (every three hours or so), I’d wake up with a furry, purring blanket draped over my midsection from rib to rib. As my belly got bigger – thereby diminishing prime lap space – she began to lose interest, and now that I roll over every forty-five minutes or so at night – thereby displacing any cats who might be in my immediate vicinity – my popularity has dropped somewhat drastically.
But still: three kicks to the face? That’s not exactly subtle.