Libby

Sweet pea, Pumpkin, Muffin top, Libbykins, Libbypoo. All nicknames for the sweet little fuzz ball that Peter and I adopted on St. Patrick's Day.

In order to get her out from the closet on her first day at home, Peter and I had to trick her. He would scratch my head, and I'd say "Oh man, Libby! This is the best! Oh yeah!" Little by little she poked her head out until she was in my lap, getting her chin scratched. She likes to find her place between Peter and I whenever we are together. At night, she shares my pillow, sleeping under the covers like a person.

Sunday was rough. Hiding under the bed, Libby let me know that she'd done something bad. Let's just say that after her accidents, Peter and I went from calling her "Honey Bunch" to calling her "Poopy." That was mean, though, so we stopped as soon as she stopped.

Libby is definitely a morning cat. Starting at 4 am, she meows in my ears. I wake up, begging her to give me a break. A few minutes later, she is pawing at my hair, or sitting on my back, yelling "Get up, Mom!" earnestly. And when I do get up, she finds the warm place that I've left, curls up, and falls to sleep.

Oh she is a princess, but I can't help but love her. She knows how to get straight to my heart, giving me little kitty kisses and resting her head on my hand. I think I've found my new best friend.