Cats have a way of worming themselves into our hearts. Misha is no exception. He is a funny big galumph of a cat with a scratchy yowling sort of meow. Handsome in a dark smoky way, his purrs rattle around like a lawn mower motor. When I look at my contented cat lounging on the unmade covers, it is hard for me to remember how fraught the first 6 weeks of our co-habitation were. Misha and his brother Sasha were the last litter of a black long hair and a tabby cat belonging to a great-grandmother before she realized she was overwhelmed with too many cats. Their litter had not been socialized properly so they came to me as wild babies. Sasha adapted well after the first couple of days but Misha stuck to his guns, he wasn't having anything to do with me. Day after day, I tried tactic after tactic to get him let me touch him. Day after day, the new plan was kicked to the corner called defeat. Finally after 4 weeks of failure, I took a Saturday off and spent a long holiday weekend with him locked in the bathroom. Every hour I went in and picked up my hissing, spitting wild kitten, to tell him I loved him. At the end of the weekend, the visions of him cuddling up on my lap were as shredded as my hand. I tried to reconcile how I might co-exist with a feral cat living in the closet as I wondered if that was even possible. I credit the Internet with turning our tale of tragedy into one of a 22 pound, food bowl loving, pillow hogging story complete with looks of adoration. About two weeks after the failed Stockholm Syndrome Experiment, I was watching something on the computer that piqued Misha's interest. He jumped up on the computer and I plopped him in my lap saying "My computer, my rules." We spent the next 20 minutes with him climbing back onto the computer to get a better look and me popping him back into my lap. And that was that. From that night forward, he was my big hunk of purring love that loves to have his chest scratched.

This photo was taken this morning when I took a break from trying to make up the bed around him. Eventually, he ended up under the covers for a while before he popped back on top.