She is the Belle of the Ball.

A few nights back, as I was drifting off to sleep in bed, I hear and feel a clumsy scrambling onto the bed followed by a very determined and forceful hiss.

No mistake, that couldn’t be anyone else but Belle. (due to a prior ACL injury she’s even less graceful than she was before) She proceeded to run over (literally) Q.B. 2.5 and my legs to snuggle in the crook of my arm.

She is the only female cat we have, and is most definitely the queen of the roost, and all the critters know it. She must be fed first at meal times, she will not share a napping spot with any other cat (Memphis is the exception but that doesn’t happen often), she will not tolerate dogs within a two foot radius of her personal space (she thoroughly loves tormenting poor Chloe), and she is stingy with the catnip.

But at the same time she is one of the more affectionate cats, with me at least. All I have to do is look at her, maybe call her name if she’s not already looking at me, and she’ll instantly start purring. Thus earning her another nick-name of purr-baby. She comes when I call her by name, she’ll follow me from room to room, she loves snuggling with me at night (she has even managed to push me over to Kevin’s side of the bed a time or two), and regardless of her sassy attitude towards the other animals I have never seen her use her claws aggressively.

Belle

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