Lily

Ah, the white fuzzball. I love my cat. Since God has not blessed Sean and I with children yet, Lily is my "baby", and Sean and I are "daddy" and "mommy" to her. She's spoiled absolutely rotten, and it's all my fault. We got into the habit of feeding her bits of ham and bologna while we watch TV and eat dinner, and she now expects to have some "people food" any time we eat. She only has a bite here and there (maybe once a day?) but I'm afraid it might be contributing to her ...ahem... weight problem.

Fat or not, she's still a sweet cat and very well behaved. She knows that she's not allowed in the kitchen and will even wait in the doorway if someone is in there with food she likes. She knows what "Go to bed!" means, and will dutifully race into the bedroom and hop up on the mattress at night. She also knows that it is her bed, and we must accomodate her Royal Highness if we wish to sleep. This usually involves Mommy or Daddy falling off of the bed because she's stretched herself out sideways across the bed instead of laying vertically like a decent kitty.

She knows the apartment is hers, and intruders are definitely not allowed. In addition she realizes that she is not quite big enough to ward off intruders and usually ends up hiding under the bed. Since her Royal Highness's Royal Throne is situated under the guest bathroom sink, she requests that the door never be shut. We sometimes forget to notify our guests of this and they are quite shocked when the door pops open when they think they have privacy. The door does not quite latch properly and a good nose push from the Queen will open it quite nicely.

It has increasingly become Daddy's responsibility to make sure that her Royal Highness has breakfast in the morning. She is very vocally demanding and won't let us rest until she can no longer see the bottom of her bowl.

So now that you know a bit of her personality, I would like to direct you to my sister blog where I've posted a couple of quick sketches I completed this morning.