Signs I live with cats

I can tell there was a “party” when I was gone because there are piles of fur everywhere.

I pick up said fur without comment (usually).

Even though I keep my house clean, I have selective blindness for some pieces of trash randomly on the floor. That’s because my brain magically categorizes these as “toys.”

I recognize them all. I can even tell which q-tips are sanctioned (I give some of them as “toys”) and which are stolen from the trash can upstairs. The trashed ones get tossed.

I have towels on certain surfaces. These also no longer register in my mind as “clutter.”

Cat hair in the food is standard. We’ll call it “fiber” and keep on eating.

I have decidedly one-sided conversations, at least from the point of view of the rest of the world.

I know that the conversations are often two-sided.

I have certain code-words for things that are part of training; don’t ever say “It’s dinner time!” out loud in my house. “Food time” or “supper” is just fine.

I can tell which one it is based on fur texture or tone of meow.

I don’t sit in either of the chairs in the den; it feels weird to me when I do. I have a spot on the sofa and so does J. The two chairs? They belong to the furry ones.

I can type with my arms stretched way out in front of me because of the furry one in my lap.

I see all of the above things are perfectly good parts of life. ^_^

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