The continuing tale of a cat named Annabel

Annabel came to live with me in August of last year.

Our apartment says all cats must be declawed. I did not believe in declawing. I bought copious numbers of scratching posts. I allowed her to decimate all my leather furniture. My arms and legs still bear the scars of the torture of trying to live within her boundaries.

I got her declawed.

She can leap four feet with her tiny paws, open doors with barely a flick of one paw, enter the shower without a sound.

She has never, not once, even cocked an ear to the sound of her name.

She shows affection by attacking me whenever I walk by the foot of the bed. Or by sneaking up and cuddling close to my legs in the middle of the night. She even butts my legs when she wants to be petted now and she has a very specific preference for that. It goes from her head to the tip of her tail on one side at a time.

She loves to run in front of me when I rise from my chair and if I go into the kitchen she will run over and eat like I just unlocked the pantry. She could eat anytime, her bowls are lit by a nightlight twenty four hours a day, but if I pet her while she eats, she purrs like mad.

It is the only time she purrs and I feel honored to be able to do this for her.

Today I closed the computer, a sign that I will be rising, and Annabel dashed in from the other room! I am not sure what this means, but I think it means that she's gonna keep me.