Twitchy Blues

I’m pretty sure she thinks we can’t see her.

Our little beauty is something of a heartbreak. It hadn’t sunk in that she’s never been a house cat before, so she doesn’t know how to do that. She isn’t aware that her main job is letting us cuddle her. Instead, we can’t touch her at all, and the absolute worst thing we could do would be to try and force her. She spends most of her time on top of the fridge where she feels safe but can still see what everyone is doing. And she has taken a liking to staring at the garden from the windowsill above the sink, which is just a quick hop away from the top of the fridge.

She spends her nights wandering around the house looking for things to toss on the floor. Last night: a pile of blankets, a light bulb and a flower pot.

The third month of quitting is supposed to be one of the hardest, and not being able to touch the cat is making me sad, but at least her name is starting to grow on me. I bet nobody has ever named a cat Twitchy before.


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