My cat is awesome. He really is the coolest thing. Taz follows us around the house and many times he follows us when we're on a walk. He's great about that. He'll follow at our heels to the bus stop and once he even got into Audrey's school. A sidebar about how cute and tiny her school is... everyone including the principal, who called me on it later, knew his name and where he belonged.
I may scold him but I secretly love when he climbs onto my newspaper or journal while I'm reading or writing. He drools when he purrs and he purrs often. And loudly.
Everytime I scratch his ears, everytime he snuggles up with me, everytime he comes when I call, I feel sad. I think about when he won't do those things anymore. I think about his "santa paws" Xmas stocking on the mantle next to ours and that awful Christmas in the future when it'll be empty. I like to think I'm trying to prepare myself for the inevitable but I think I'm just being ghoulish. Why can't I just enjoy him while he's here? Why can't I banish these depressing thoughts? I used to roll my eyes at people who paid for cancer treatments and stuff like that for their pets. Now I understand. Totally.
See, this is what goes on in the mind of a terminally cheerful person. Dark, eh?