I’m not particularly a pet person. When asked to sit for them (by new friends who presume I’m innocent), Nelly keeps checking on me anxiously – yes, from the other side of the planet, somewhere in California – if the furry little Tamagochis are all right. I guess it’s a warning sign (not everyone hears) but since I reached adulthood, I swear all of them have survived under my care, except for my flatmate’s 3 gold fish last year, which all floated on the surface right the morning after he left for his holiday. Heart attack, I’d reckon. Maybe. But me, I’m still alive; Alex didn’t look back at me in anger (guess he was still in his uplifted holiday mood and didn’t register that his fish were flushed down the double u/c).
Anyhoo. Although I must keep a 3 meter distance, because I’m allergic, Czuczu’s deffo growing on me. Clumsy and sweet, I think we bonded yesterday when he was playing either with my comp keyboard (usually I never let anyone touch my Mac Pro) or was sliding, Tron-style under the Xmas tree lights, across the hard-wood floor, idiotically chasing the pistachio shells Ivan left around the night before. (Yeah, the three of us, Timi, Ivan and me, scored a wild NYE party with white wine, Mad Men marathon and pistachios. Honestly? One of the best farewells to the old year. I am officially a granny.)
Czuczu, on the other hand, born on 21 Sept, is in the peak of his youth, exploring the basics of physics on an hourly basis. I appreciate that he respects me not bothering him and we normally just observe each other from far away. He’s probably thinking I’m a weird, antisocial animal who doesn’t seek his friendship and I think this little guy’s simply adorable for keeping his cool at all times. (even though we started to call him loser cat as he always falls and twists in the most comical ways. I can easily imagine he’s doing it to cheer us up).