My cat, Miss Charlotte. She doesn't get much attention in this blog because her feline style doesn't lend itself to anecdotes. She isn't noisy and wild, like Reynaldo. Nor is she a big, old charmer like Joey. But she has a valiant little spirit, and she helps make each morning brighter.We have our own routine, she and I. After my shower, I sit on the side of my bed and slather on shea body butter. She sits on the bed beside me, chatting a bit. Then I go into the bathroom and begin applying my makeup in that brighter light. Charlotte hops onto the toilet seat and observes this process carefully. This is our time. The boys -- Joe and Rey -- are frequently racing around up and down the hall. Charlotte doesn't go in for such noisy and reckless behavior. She's happy to watch me apply eyeshadow and mascara, occasionally sharing her thoughts on cosmetics and skin care.
Charlotte and I have an evening ritual, too. After I get home from work, she sits beside me as a I sort the day's mail. While I set the envelopes aside for recycling, she butts me gently with her head and fills me in about what she did all day -- which, I imagine, consists mainly of napping on the sofa, sitting on the window sill and watching the tree move in the breeze, batting the ball with the bell around a bit, and then sleeping more seriously under the bed.
Neither as tough, nor as brave as the boys, Charlotte is shy around strangers. But with me she is friendly and affectionate. She came here terrified and homeless, first abandoned by her original owners and then displaced because of a fire at the animal shelter. But she's made this place her home, and having her here makes each day a bit brighter.
