I am a crazy cat lady who can attract the envy and wonder of strangers and neighbors alike.
How can that be? Sadly I don't have a cat who'll walk on a leash or who will perform tricks. But I do have a cat, a tabby with a large, fluffy tail, who recognizes the sound of my car or my footsteps and who meets me on the sidewalk to welcome me home. As I open my car door, I exclaim, "Henry! Henry!" and Henry cries, and I scratch her back. We walk up the sidewalk and up the front steps, stopping for petting along the way, and anyone who witnesses this is always taken by surprise and often awe. "Look at that cat; it's like a dog!" they say.
Henry's apparent devotion also extends to our leaving the home; Henry becomes distressed if we set out on foot, and follows, howling miserably, until we give up, capture her, lock her in the house, and then set out again.
Once inside the home, Henry doesn't appear to give a damn about me, but she puts up a hell of a show on every homecoming. In the life of a middle-aged crazy cat lady, this is priceless.
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