The Wheezyriders were MINE! ALL MINE! until Cristian and I bought a house. Now they’re ours. And I don’t just mean because kitty supplies are in the household budget rather than my personal expenses and I don’t just mean because Cristian has finally started picking up poop (at least, the stuff that ends up on the floor).
The kitties, they love their daddy.
Let’s take for example how morning happens. I get up, I shuffle downstairs like a coffee-deprived zombie, I turn on the coffee pot. Then I go say hi to kitties who are usually hanging out in the living room. I pat pat, I snuggle snuggle. They are moderately interested but typically don’t move much.
About an hour later, Captain goes upstairs and sits outside the bedroom door, crying. I’m usually in the next bedroom over (which is where my “office” is) saying things like, “WHAT? SHUT UP! CAPTAIN, WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?” And then the bedroom door opens and Captain flies over to daddy and rubs his face all over Cristian’s ankles. Daddy love.
When Captain manages to sneak into the bedroom when I get up, he runs right past me, jumps on the bed, and cries until daddy pats him.
When Cristian’s in the shower, Captain sits outside the bathroom door and cries until he comes out.
Now, mind you, Captain loves snuggling in our comforter, licking the bathtub after a shower, and he knows full well that Cristian is most likely to turn off the alarm and open the back door for him in the morning but still… Daddy love is overt and demonstrative and at times, pathetic kitten cry time. Mommy love is subtle unless there’s chicken involved.
Bill, on the other hand, only likes Cristian when he’s quiet and still. He hides when Daddy’s watching sports.