Lilliana is four years old and is solid black with pumpkin-orange eyes. She is also very tiny. Her mother, Pyewacket, was very tiny, too. It's kind of like having a perma-kitten.
Lilli rarely makes appearances. Joey, the behemoth half Old English Sheepdog/half Great Pyrenees, likes to chase her. Not to be mean, but because Lilli will always run and Joey can persue. But, Joey outweighs Lilli by 80 pounds, 5 1/2 pounds to Joey's 85 - hence the fear.
Because of her fear, we also call her "The Troll" since she lives under the master bed or the futon in the yoga room. Installing a litter box in the upstairs bathroom was a very wise plan (except for when Brody makes huge messes, but we'll talk about him another day!).
There are times, however, when Lilli forgets herself and becomes social. Like the other day, when I shot the above picture (gingerly with my phone), as she snuggled in for a nap with me. It's in those quiet moments I see her true self: warm, loving, cuddly. Happy to be with me. We communicate without even saying a word and simply enjoy each other's company. It's the time of truth.
Lilli rarely makes appearances. Joey, the behemoth half Old English Sheepdog/half Great Pyrenees, likes to chase her. Not to be mean, but because Lilli will always run and Joey can persue. But, Joey outweighs Lilli by 80 pounds, 5 1/2 pounds to Joey's 85 - hence the fear.
Because of her fear, we also call her "The Troll" since she lives under the master bed or the futon in the yoga room. Installing a litter box in the upstairs bathroom was a very wise plan (except for when Brody makes huge messes, but we'll talk about him another day!).
There are times, however, when Lilli forgets herself and becomes social. Like the other day, when I shot the above picture (gingerly with my phone), as she snuggled in for a nap with me. It's in those quiet moments I see her true self: warm, loving, cuddly. Happy to be with me. We communicate without even saying a word and simply enjoy each other's company. It's the time of truth.
But, then the dogs will bark, or another cat will jump up on the bed, the real world will crash around us, and the fear is back. She hisses, darts, and backs away into her 'cave' again. This is not really who she is, and I recognize this. I just wish she would see that I am here for her - I have loved her all along. And always will. Regardless of how angry I get at her at times (before the litterbox upstairs, she used to sometimes leave us 'surprises' . . .). It's called unconditional love.
Lately, sleep patterns have been messed up again. I think it's a sign my thyroid is picking back up. It's in those wee small hours, though, that I worry about her: will she ever lead a more normalized life?
I wish she could understand me. Or perhaps, I wish I could understand her?
I wish she could understand me. Or perhaps, I wish I could understand her?
"In the wee, small hours of the morning
When all the world's asleep.
You lie awake, and think about the girl
And never try to sleep."
When all the world's asleep.
You lie awake, and think about the girl
And never try to sleep."
~ Lyrics by Bob Hilliard, Music by David Mann
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