The anniversary of the date the girlies came to live with me. I've survived four years, watching them grow and develop, fascinated as I watched them learn new things as they explored their world, totally without fear. Sophie was always a couple of days ahead of Molly in development, and they've always had totally different personalities, ever changing as they grow older.
The woman who brought them to me said she chose these two because, of all the littermates, these two seemed the most bonded. I had visions of them remaining very close, snuggling and sleeping together as I had seen other people's cats do. That was true when they were weeks old and would meow hysterically if they somehow got separated from each other. Now they seem to merely tolerate each other, but maybe that's to be expected when you're together from the moment of conception, with only a couple of hours of respite when one had to go to the vet and the other didn't.
They're both still terrors, only in different ways. Sophie seems to be very sweet, sitting on my lap or next to me on the couch, but it's hard to appreciate that sweetness when she's knocking a spoon out of my hand and then stomping off because she got cheddar cheese soup on her foot. Molly is always delighted when she can hide behind a door and jump out when Sophie's leaving the room with the litter box. She can startle Sophie so much that Sophie jumps high enough for all four feet to leave the floor. Sophie tries to do it to her, too, but she's just not good at it and Molly always anticipates it and jumps out at her. Molly still owns the bed when I'm in it, patrolling the sides and intimidating Sophie so that Sophie is afraid to come into the room. Sophie owns the couch, and Molly can't get up on it if Sophie's already there.
I have encouraged them to be free spirits, even though sometimes I think that may be a mistake. I worry about it because if I don't outlive them who in the world will put up with cats who remove pieces of baseboard and play with screws that can't be traced to anything. I have a cat who doesn't just walk away or even cover food she doesn't like - she actually takes pieces in her mouth and then spits them out. Cats who sniff the shoes of strangers who come in and run to the window to watch loud cars and lawn mowers and trimmers.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened to them if a good samaritan hadn't seen their mother killed by the car and called the humane society for them to be picked up. I'm not sure they would have survived their first Ohio winter. Thanks to that person, I think they're living a good life, doing whatever they please whenever they please. It's been a fun four years.
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