This was my landscape one morning while doing my homework. I suppose this is how I would feel at four o'clock too if I had spent the entire night running over my parent's faces while they slept, bringing my entire collection of toys to their bed and begging them to play.

Sophie, we've decided, some king of cat-dog hybrid. Every time I arrive home she runs out from wherever she is nestled or from whatever she has been doing to grind her head into my ankles and purr. She plays fetch. She goes ga-ga over table scraps. She chews everything (I recently found gnaw marks on the creamer pump on the kitchen counter). And, the most un-cat-like thing about her? SHE LIKES US.

So rare is it to find Sophie sleeping, I tip-toed over to my camera to capture a series of shots. I loved that she was curled around her ball and that her tail didn't even try to find room in the basket. I came home from work that day and sat down at my desk again. Looking over to the scene so sweet this morning, I found this:



Cat-dog hybrid. I'm telling you.

Happy birthday, Sophie! We adopted you six months ago, and the vet that your foster mommy had taken you to said at the time that you were approximately six months old. We stressed for so long about your age, Sophie, often wondering if you would have adjusted better to domestication had you been younger. You did not trust us, often running from the sight of us. I knew you lived here only because your litter box regularly required attention. When I took you to the vet for the first time, I asked Nick to come home and help me catch you. You still had so much "wild" in you. It was difficult for me; I am sure it was worse for you.

We paid extra attention when a pet pro spoke on talk radio on the subject of antisocial cats. We believed that was you, Sophie: antisocial. You wouldn't sit in plain sight of us. You never made so much as a peep. You treated us as potential predators. You are resting in my lap and purring as I type this. My, how things have changed.

You spend a lot of time rolling on your back. People tell me that you must feel secure. People tell me that you must be happy. I know that you are both of these now. I have this picture hanging outside my desk at work. People I don't even know stop to look at it and tell me how adorable you are. Pft. Like I don't know. You fell asleep purring in my arms the other night and I nearly cried.

After our week away, I fear our little kitty with never look at suitcases with the same innocent cordiality as she did a month ago when she saw her first. Indeed, she has been beating up the luggage that I borrowed from Debbie and Brenda, showering an array of karate chops and donkey kicks to the piece of devilry that stole her parents away for seven days straight. Mean, stupid suitcase.

By that pouty little look she's giving me, been giving me since I started yesterday afternoon, you'd think my decision to complete my degree was a personal dig. Oh, the guilt! I find myself needing to close the door against her onslaught, the way she slams her body into mine, the almost electric purr that has her body trembling visibly, and the mournful meow that says all too clearly that she is always supposed to be number one.

So far, Nick is taking it much better, but then again, this is only the "official" first day. Needless to say, posts may become even fewer and farther in between while I figure out how to juggle my time. Meanwhile, be thinking of the fuzzy tailed mongrel who is, even now, pawing at my leg for me to throw her favorite orange jingly ball.

Nick thinks she looks like a question mark in this picture...which is a very accurate description of her personality. It was actually taken about a month ago, but I woke up this morning, realizing I hadn't yet written a Sophie Sunday post...which I typically do when she does something cute (or irritating) and then postdate the entry. Well, it has been a busy week, if not anxious. Then, we were gone all Friday night at the Brewers game, and all day Saturday at the Badgers game. Needless to say, our little kitty has been very naughty vying for attention.

You see her jump on the table and shout, "Sophie! No!" She jumps off. Thirty second later, she jumps back on and you shout again, "SOPHIE! GET DOWN!" and clap your hands for good measure. A third time she jumps up and you're so mad that you don't say anything at first, just look at her with your death stare and hope that it will sever her naughty streak. When that doesn't seem to work, you move to get up. It doesn't take much movement because she knows she's being bad and runs to the other room.

We fell asleep on the couch at 7:00 last night, and stayed in bed until almost 7:00 this morning, when our little fuzz ball let us know that it was time to get up and that she would take no more of this laziness. I groaned and flopped to my stomach. Nick pulled the blankets tighter around his face and pinched his eyes shut. Then she began her aerial assault, launching herself onto my back and pouncing down to chew on my toes. I withstood the attack for a long time, ignoring her completely, before admitting to myself that I was very much awake and that staying in bed was very much futile.

With time now elapsed and my frustration cooled, I can appreciate that she isn't trying to be a pest. She only wants to spend time with us...she only wants someone to cuddle with and to play with...and how wonderful that an animal known for their standoffishness could actually learn to love.

I was expecting that there would be some serious attitude with a sprinkling of the silent treatment when Nick and I got back from our vacation...but I couldn't have been more wrong. Sophie has been charming. She even spent several hours yesterday morning giving me presents.

First there was my Reach flosser, then the cap to Nick's hairspray, then Nick's diabetes bracelet, then a cotton swab [from the bathroom trash], a bobby pin, and a straw she stole from my glass of Crystal Light the other night. One by one she brought them, laying them upon the couch cushion next to mine, and then running off to retrieve something else.

Once she tired, she jumped up to sit behind the pile of rubble, and looked over the junk to my face as if to say, "See? You got pretty good stuff here. Don't leave again." And then she slept, paw over the gunky cotton swab and tail flopping the hairspray cap to the floor. So willing to please and love, what a precious animal she is.

Fluffy Kitty Paws!

I love the tufts between her "toes".

It was a rough week for me due to multiple reasons, and I found myself distracted the majority of the time. Sophie did not think much of not being the center of my world, and I found her quite pushy, often slamming her body into me and lolling onto her back to look up at me and purr, "I'm irresistible, you know I am." The other morning, Nick was jauntier exiting the bed than myself, and I heard Sophie's collar bell as she walked around the bed to my side in curiosity.

"Morning, Sophie!" I crooned and she jumped to snuggle her little bunny's butt (all it's missing is the cotton ball tail!) into me, purring wildly and making sure I didn't ignore her this time. I stroked the downy fur on the crown of her head and smiled to myself. Was it so long ago that she would run at the sound of us, and hiss if we accidentally looked her in the eye? Was it so very long ago that I confessed my fears to my aunts that she had too much wild in her, that we had adopted a feral kitten that was too old and too unsocialized to human beings from the rescue shelter? It must have been, although we've only had this darling fluff ball a scant 4 months.

I hate to break it to you, Puss...but I think you're tame.

(And, if your love of potato chips, pretzels, melted butter, and microwave popcorn are any indication, you like it that way.)

This week, Miss Sophie met her "grandparents"—Nick's Parents. She played the defensive for awhile, hiding behind furniture and walking low to the ground with her belly rubbing the carpet, ever aware of these new people in her home. Of course, and this should come as no surprise if one takes into account the regular narrative I give on Sophie's appetite, she came around very quickly when she realized that Joan brought treats. Please Sophie's tummy, please Sophie. It's really quite simple, and I'm happy we've finally figured out the equation. She ate a cranberry orange muffin on us last week, or rather, a cranberry orange muffin wrapper...and grabbed a butter-flavored paper towel that I had used for my toast from the garbage. Good ol' Sophie: waste not, want not.

She gets the munchies.