We have a black fluffy cat, well, she's mostly mine. She's John's step-cat. She's cute and has paws that have earned her the nickname of Dustmops and eyes that have earned her the nickname of Eyes in Space.
She's a shy cat and I can't figure out if she thinks I'm her mother or she's mine. Sometimes at night, I'll get woken up by sandpaper kisses on my cheek, and it's her, just checking in.
Spike doesn't understand patting, which is part of her charm. All you need is a straight finger within a foot of her face and she'll come over to it, and rub her face against it, essentially patting herself.
We very rarely see her in the basement, where we watch tv and where our "offices" are and where the cats eat and poo, or on the first floor, where we eat and sit and play. We know she sleeps on a piece of ripped out insulation (is this healthy?) in my shoe closet and will come out at night and only when we are in the bedroom, mostly, to see what's going on.
