Fuzzy Love

She is fully grown, even more so now that she approaches middle age. I sit in my corner of the couch where she knows I will stay awhile and relax. I like this spot because it's convenient and I consider it my spot even though I don't have it reserved specifically for myself. I start to read and in her quiet but thundering way she jumps up beside me, wailing her baby like cry of "riaooowwww". It is her way of asking if it is OK to sit awhile. She can be very intimidating to those that don't enjoy the pleasures of the feline species, but I know better. She is gentle beyond reproach. Her fangs are bared as she cries, and she is fearsome with fangs both top and bottom, and I know better. She just wants some peace with me as her motor starts to run. She will wait until I welcome her in, unlike Mother who will capture her and clutch her close for affection. She knows now that Father does not reach for her, although he will play and sometimes try to stalk her from her comfort. Eventually she will leave with her fat belly swaying right to left, but for now she sits and kneads Father with her paws, the motor running louder with each stroke against her fur. She is not the best Father has seen, but she is the most comfortable in her skin. She is Winnie, and there is no other quite like her.