Neely

This is Neely-cat. Named after a Boston sports legend, with the slick moves to prove it. Around 11 years old, featherweight, sweetheart.

Likes:
- Empty boxes.
- Ribbon, string, tinsel, or anything else that hangs all playful-like.
- Collecting and eating tumbleweeds of dust in the corners of rooms.
- Puking partially digested dust bunnies on laptop bags, couch cushions, curtains, and pretty much anything that cannot be easily cleaned or wiped down.

Dislikes:
- Being attacked or touched from behind. Brings back flashbacks of his early days in Nam (i.e. adjustment period with brother Loki-cat, RIP).
- Being ignored. To prevent this he will climb up on your face until his whiskers snake their way inside your nostrils.
- Toddlers learning to climb. :shudder:

Since Loki passed away in November, we've tried to pay special attention to Neely. There's never been a time in his life when he's been without another animal around. But he seems to be adjusting to the concept well. He's put on some weight (in a good way) and come out of his shell.

Having lost 2 pets (Barkley and Loki) in a matter of 1 year, it's an adjustment for us as well. And knowing how quickly the times passes, we want to be sure the precious time Neely has left is happy. So we've given him more freedom, allowed him to explore parts of the house he hasn't before, and even let him sleep with us at night.

The last part has been a challenge. He's fine throughout the night, sleeping soundly at our feet. Although for the first few nights if I had to get up to use the bathroom, I'd forget he was there and fling the covers off of me, sending Neely flying off the bed like Super Cat. Oops! Now I know to check for a snoozing kitty before getting out of bed.

But come 4am, I feel Neely start to creep up from the foot of the bed. He's a little cat, so it feels like his paws are fingers pressing on my legs, then my hips, chest, until he's all up in my grill, purring like a lawn mower in my ear. I'll put my arms up in an attempt to block him. I've even picked him up and placed him on top of Tony, who generally appreciates cats more than I do. (And who also manages to sleep through all of this business, of course.) But these defenses do nothing to thwart Neely-cat from his ultimate goal... Waking and choking me with his fur and love.

These early morning shenanigans have not subsided, nor has my frustration. But I'm trying to be a sport about it. He just needs some time. We all do, I guess.



But seriously? Go bother your father, cat!