Several people have asked whether Moonie and my cat have met. Yes, they have, and this family-friendly blog is no place for discussing the gratuitous violence that resulted the first few times. The cat, whom the ex and I adopted in 2002 after she began her life as a feral creature on the streets of Brockton, MA, is territorial around other animals. Heck, I’ve been feeding her and cleaning up her poop for nearly 13 years and she barely tolerates me. She’s inherently nice but not at all cuddly, so a bright-haired little weirdo that wants hugs and more hugs is not going to be her ideal new housemate.

But today the introductions went a little better. There were three stages of Moonie meeting the kitty.

1. DENIAL

Moonie: “I love you, kitty.”

Kitty: (hiss)

2. ANGER

Moonie: “I love you, kitty.”

Kitty: (tries to bat Moonie off the bed)

3. ACCEPTANCE

Moonie: “I love you, kitty.”

Kitty, to me: “I give up. I don’t know what this thing is or wants, but I don’t feel like killing it today and I’m not even sure it can be killed.”

Victory!