Our friends know us well. They point out dogs to us and smile amusedly when Bill and I run up to pet them. They sent us support when we informally petitioned to adopt Critter.* They also let us take care of their pets.

Catface, master of crawling behind things.

This is Catface Meowmers. Bill named Catface. Catface Meowmers is not our pet.

We are friends.

Catface likes me more than Bill, evidenced by how he paws open the door to join me while I’m sleeping in, licks my hand when I’m sleeping, and knocks over all my Stitch Enjoys Cooking toys while I’m working at my desk.

No respect!

Catface has moved into his new home but he is welcome back at any time.

* We never ended up adopting Critter. I called the humane society twice after we brought her in, and both times I was told she was not doing well. She was vomiting after every meal, a sign that her body was giving in. Both times the person on the other side of the line asked me if Critter was mine and I said no. Despite that being the truth, that the thirteen-year old declawed cat was not mine, I felt like an asshole owner who dumped this cat at the shelter when it was on its last legs. I couldn’t call any more because it made me feel sad and awful. I am assuming she was finally put to sleep seven days after we took her in.

The landlord didn’t follow up about Critter, either.