I'll be the first to admit I'm hopelessly gushy about my cats. I'm sure I am no different about the kittens than the parents of young children who are blind to some of the (ahem) less endearing traits of their offspring. Well, maybe not quite that bad, I am aware of the misdeeds of Millie and Gracie, but I'm able to laugh off all but the worst messes. They're just so cute, how can I be angry with them? If I'm not like a parent of a spoiled child, maybe more like a benevolent grandparent? I'm probably splitting hairs here.
This photo is one that probably only my CF friends will truly understand so I'll interpret for those who aren't fortunate enough to belong to the elite club that is CF. Gracie is on my lap, sure, everyone sees that. The black buckled jacket with the large blue tube to the left of Gracie is part of the infamous vest, which shakes and makes quite a racket. Cats aren't known for enjoying such an environment, but Gracie puts up with it; in fact, this is the only time she'll sit on my lap! Invitations to join me on the couch, with a soft quilt on my lap, go ignored. Instead, she prefers the noisy, shaky environment of my treatment time.
The clear tubing in the photo is leading from a compressor on my desk up to the nebulizer cup, one of three nebs that gets smoked each morning. As you can see if you look closely at the laptop surface, it is covered with small spots- these are the medications that fly out randomly from the neb cup, coating everything within spitting distance. Including Gracie. For some reason she is also willing to put up with this, merely shaking her head if a drop flies there, or turning to lick furiously if one drops on her side. She seems to think it's mildly annoying, maybe a bit inconvenient, but certainly not something to jump down and stalk away from.
So yeah, I'll admit to being a crazy cat lady. But does Gracie have to admit to being a crazy cat? Fair is fair, after all.
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