Someone posed the question on Twitter: “What would your cat’s autobiography be titled?”
There are four cats running the household so I came up with the following:
- Me-Me: It’s All About Me-Me
- Chuckie: No, Skritch RIGHT THERE
- Girlie-Girl: Confessions of a Grouchy Cat
- Chloe: ZOOM! The Adventures of A Lucky Kitten
My readers met Me-Me yesterday: she loves paying attention to her favorite human because her favorite human loves paying attention to her. Weebles (as we call her) is 11.
Girlie-Girl (or Girlie, or Twirly Little Whirly Girl, the calico, is our oldest cat at 14, which is 72 in human years. She grouses at me when I pet her; she grouses at me when I don’t.
Chuckie (aka Chuckie Monster) is a long lean orange cat of three years. He’s mostly settled down into a mellow lounge-around-the-house cat except when he gets into mock fights with the youngest of our crew.
Chloe (Little Girl), the youngest, is 10 months of age. She still has the zoomies and pounces on things, has almost learned to open doors (the lack of opposable thumbs is the only thing saving us all). She’s a tortoiseshell.
I probably write too much about my cats, but that’s because I love my cats, and because they’ve asked me to ghost-write their autobiographies.
Words Like Me 