Which means, it's a good thing I don't have kids. What is up with three cats all needing attention from me when I'm trying to work, watch compelling guilty-pleasure television, or use the bathroom? The whole point of having three of them was that they could bond with EACH OTHER.
Things haven't worked out according to that plan. Each thinks he/she is the only cat, or should be the only cat and demands attention throughout the day and will not be ignored. If they had thumbs they'd be throwing things at me and breaking my shit.
Every time I'm on the phone they demand more attention and then the bird joins the clamoring chorus, yakking along with me in his unintelligible dialect. People on the other end of the phone think I have boisterous family visiting because he sounds like me, only louder and more garbled.
Neo, the street kitty who now resembles a small bear cub demands (and gets) lap time, which involves rolling around while I vigorously scratch his thick noggin and then he starts to climb - first up into my armpit then up the front of my shirt, purr-meowing the whole time, coating my pants and shirt with fur. Swell. When he hits overload limit he gets dumped onto the floor and I get to go wash everything he's touched - he makes me itch, that one.
The others aren't as bad, but they still get mouthy and clingy, instead of being cool, detached and aloof. Where are *those* cats? Those are the kind of cats I need.
Can you imagine if I had kids? Yee-ikes.
