The cat only loves me when it thunders.

Sound like a country western song? It is the life I live with the feline I picked out for myself at the animal shelter.

He follows my husband around like a puppy from room to room. He sits on his lap. He won't sit on mine...and mine is bigger by the way.

He is most friendly to me when it's near bedtime because that's when he gets treats, the cat not the husband. Right now it's a package of salmon flavored, and smelling, soft chewy things whose aroma wafts through the room for an hour or so after opened and exposed to the air.

I have taught him tricks...again, the cat, I mean. He can high-five, lay down, jump up, chase but not fetch, give me his paw. I have been unsuccessful at this moment in getting him to speak or to roll over although I might have mentioned there is an around-the-world-trip involved if I succeed in getting him trained to that level. Again, the trip would be for my husband and me not the cat.

And that's what I think about it.