Harris is our self-declared Most Important Cat (MIC). Now that he's made this clear to us, we see his point every day. No other cat is as snuggly as he is, leaning into us adoringly as he sits on our laps. No other cat settles down on our shoulders and rubs our head with his while we read in an armchair. No other cat takes off in such businesslike fashion the minute he's through with us — he's snuggly until he isn't, and then we don't exist. (He is such an Important Cat that he can't waste his time with silly us.)
No one else curls up between our heads at night, or wakes us by nursing on our earlobes and purring directly into our ear canals. No one else races madly from one end of the apartment to the other, chirping and chortling like a little weirdo. No one else steals treats and toys from the other cats and runs away with them to enjoy them all by himself. No one else plays with toys so hard that he alarms me with his furious panting. Just Harris.
In honor of the MIC's third Gotcha Day, a few baby photos:
He's hardly changed a bit, hasn't he? He may be a little bigger (although he's still a Small Cat and is proud of his neat and elegant size), but he's still The Baby of the Family in spite of Lion, who is younger but bigger (and less... infantile).
For more than a year, I kept the voicemail from my now-friend Robin at Kitten Associates, informing me that we had been chosen out of many applications to adopt "Charley." (I'd still have that voicemail except that Someone sat on the answering machine and erased it. I'm not sure who that was; it's clear the other cats are not all in agreement about Harris's Importance. Except for Possum: Harris has always been his protégé.) Anyway, that October day when we got the news was a joyful day, and Harris has brought us nothing but joy in all of his days with us since.
Thank you, Harris. We will continue to do our best to try to deserve you.