When Skye was born, our then-eight-year-old cat Marcy — used to being the queen of this joint — was devastated, depressed, dejected — basically, every sad “d” adjective you can think of. But with Drew? She’s been pretty indifferent. Been there, done that, thinks-that-we’re-nuts-for-wanting-that (again).
Until this weekend, that is, when she agreed to pose for pictures with the little man.
“Fine. I’ll sit next to the kid. But I refuse to let him win me over with his boyish charm!”