Big Softie

Sure, I’m a busy professional gal on the go. Working a lot, socializing a lot, always on my way to or from something (or both, more likely), always with too many irons in the fire, never a dull moment, blah blah blabbity blah.

But get Moira{.broken_link} purring and posturing all cute-like? Yeah, I turn into a simpering, babbling idiot.

I say things like, “Ooooh, who’s just so cute Cute CUte CUTe CUTE?” with a kiss on her furry head between each word as punctuation.

And, “Woogedy woogedy woogedy woogedy WOO!” while scritching her head.

“Who’s my little pumpkin’ puss?” and “Who’s the cutest cat in the WHOLE HOUSE?” are also favorites around here, also usually accompanied by scritches and kisses on her furry head.

The kisses on the head? Sometimes followed by Moira licks on my nose. Often after a nose-lick she’ll tilt her head down for another head-kiss. Which, of course, just makes the situation worse.

“Awww! Widdle puss puss kiss mommy on da nose! Good widdle kitty give kiss. Aw, such a cute kitten boo, yes you are! Yes you are!”

No, it’s not pretty. I turn into a little pile of goo, putty in her paws. Any authority and superiority I inherited from being at the top of the food chain goes *FOOM* right out the window and the truth is laid bare for all to see: I, the human, am the cat’s abject slave and consider myself lucky to be so.

And all it takes is a little purr and a little curl of the body and a little flick of the paw to reduce me to this pathetic state. I’m powerless against her cuteness.