In a couple weeks, Karli and I will be celebrating our 10th anniversary. We’re old, I know.
For almost as long, we’ve had a cat. He was yowling in a barn at Karli’s aunt’s house on Thanksgiving the year we were married. The vet guessed he was about 5-6 months old at the time, so we’ve always just said he was born on the day of our wedding. Pretty much as long as we’ve been married, we’ve had Turk.
Then, last year, along came Squatch. At first, Turk didn’t know quite how to react to a baby. He was cautious and stayed away. When we were feeding the baby, Turk would crawl up on our laps and sit with us. That and occasionally sniffing Squatch’s head while he was napping was about as close as he’d get.
As Squatch got a older, Turk got a little more accustomed to having all the attention stolen away from him. He’s slowly learning to share the spotlight a little. He’s getting the hang of being number 2. Well, being number 1b.
The cat has been surprisingly good with Squatch. He puts up with quite a bit of poking and tugging and squishing from a newly-mobile baby. Usually, when Karli does the same thing to him, she ends up with an arm full of cat fangs, which has only happened once with Squatch so far. Usually, their relationship is pretty much like this:
But sometimes it’s like this:
And occasionally like this:
Yeah, they’re buds. In a Professor X/Magneto kinda way, I think. Which one is which has yet to be determined.
Here’s a bonus video of Squatch with his new swimming pool that definitely won’t be included with the Harvard application: