Introducing Loki

I have a confession to make – the cat in my icon isn’t my cat. It’s a very cute cat – but not my cat. It’s just some random, cute cat off the internet on what I feel is a somewhat calming green background.

My reason for the cat at all (instead of using a photograph of myself) is that I’m not particularly photogenic – the cat, is, in fact, much cuter than me. I know – shallow, isn’t it?

The reason for not using my cat is this. Here is a photo of my cat:



Meet Loki. He has gorgeous eyes but, really – black cats aren’t easy to photograph. Plus, he’s a tart of a cat who likes to lie in odd poses. Or hide in things.

He’s lovely, though. Except for last night. Last night he decided that 3am was a great time to jump up onto the bed, walk up to my pillow and purr. Loudly. Loudly enough to wake me up. And then when I refused to open my eyes? He started to lick my forehead.

See – he loves me really.

Maybe.

And I love him. Well, on all those moments save when he decides to sit on my keyboard, because he knows it's the only way to distract me from writing when I'm in the zone and he wants to be fed. Or, failing that trick, stands in front of my monitor.

He’s eight years old now. He came from a local family and has exactly no kind of pedigree. He cost less than a night at the movies, and was far more entertainment in the first 24 hours. He's now absolutely priceless and I wouldn't trade him for the world. He’s been an accident prone mess ever since day one. He’s exited the house from the upper storey at least four times (twice on purpose, once slipping on ice, once just because he’s stupid) and no, there’s no handy ledges – it’s straight down.

He’s never broken a bone.

He nearly lost an eye running into a rose bush during a thunderstorm. He spent a week at the vet’s and now has a misty patch across his left eye. We wondered if we should really have called him Odin.

Our lives wouldn’t be the same without him.