Electra

Black Cat.

The runt.

Little Thing.

Turd.  Electroturd.  Turkey.

She is a silly little kitty.

She makes a lot of noise.  Meaning she meows a lot.  A Lot.  She loves the sound of her own voice.  

She thinks exercise or cleaning or cooking time is Electra time.

Sometimes I’ll put on some Def Leppard and dance around the house.  That’s when she wants to be held.  She purrs and chirps while we dance.  Last night it was to Armageddon It.  I’ll hold her carefully like a guitar and do a Steve Clark style spin or two.  In my mind the spin is elegant and graceful.  In reality it is an awkward clutzy slow turn.  She loves it no matter how it looks.  Sometimes when we dance she just wants to be held close.  She’ll press against me, and we’ll sway a little while she purrs and rubs her face on my chest.

How can so much personality fit into one tiny little kitty?

I dunno, but it does.

The cucumber didn’t scare her.