Avon Calling – Forbidden Love
The pet people on this blog will not think I’m crazy when I say that I talk to Avon. Most people who have pets find themselves talking to their four-legged roommates. And I think it’s a safe bet that those same people will say that their pet “talks” back to them. Avon absolutely does, and so does her brother from another mother Stringer (to the point where we BEG him to shut up). But Avon’s doing something else that I’m not sure I can say most pet people have experienced.
Avon is trying to steal my fiancé. Seriously.
I’ve spoken before about their special relationship, but ever since he and I got engaged, I’ll be damned if Avon isn’t stepping up her game. She does a lot of things I don’t, and some things I just can’t. For one, every single night she waits for him to get ready for bed. She sits with almost perfect patience right outside the bathroom door, ready at a moment’s notice if he needs help brushing his teeth. When he finally comes out, she fills him in on everything he missed in the five to ten minutes the door was closed. All the while she chatters she slinks her way ever so casually toward the bedroom. And as soon as it looks like I might join them, she hauls her chubby butt onto the bed. By the time I’m ready for bed, the two of them are snuggled together like they could care less if I slept on the couch.
Another thing Avon does that I’m just not interested in are belly massages. Every cat owner has a different term for this, either kneading or making biscuits, but in our house it’s a belly massage. Avon stands up on my bf’s stomach and goes to town, staring lovingly into his eyes the entire time. They talk to each other and (depending on how recently Avon’s claws have been trimmed) laugh. It’s cute, but I’m getting her message. He’s hers.
But the last thing, the hardest thing to compete with, is just her utter devotion. Avon is never going to argue about whether we should watch Say Yes to the Dress: Atlanta or the Mets game. She won’t be frustrated that someone left the toilet paper on the counter for Stringer to eat again (don’t ask). There’s no discussion about whether Avon will do the dishes…because she can’t. The only thing she gets upset about is vacuuming, but she even gets over that in a heartbeat. But at least I’ll never try to chomp a tissue out of his hands with my sharp teeth.
So I’ve got that going for me.