I love my cat. I actually have three but, we say there is one for each member of our family. Blackie is more of my Dad's cat because she likes him best, Leo is my brother's because he's the only one who can really put up with him, and Smokey is mine.

Blackie will tell my father when to go to bed, will follow him around all day, and just keep a watchful eye over him. She never used to really do this until my Dad had to go through chemo, and broke his ankle about a year later. Ever since then she was just right there, trying her best to take care of him in her little kitty way.

I dunno how much Smokey is in tune with my emotions, but I know that just looking at him and petting him and how just one touch of my hand can make him roll over on is belly gives me that amazing "aweee" feeling. He fills up my little lonely soul with warmth and sunlight so no matter how messed up I am one day, I always feel better when he's there. He comes when I call him and sleeps with me at night, he even has his own pillow on my bed He's not much of a cuddler but if I'm feeling down or really need it he'll let me squish him without any complaints.