Five Years Is Wood? Not Wood, Please!

The traditional fifth anniversary gift is apparently wood, but Carlos would prefer treats, thank you.

On January 19th, 2010, I met my big-pawed boy for the first time. Miri the people-fearing cat was desperately lonely, and I was reeling from the loss of Harold, only seven months after my dad died, and a year after losing Pan. We needed help; we got much more. On the 21st, I brought him home. He clearly was fearful and stressed on day one.

"Is the flashy thing going to happen a lot?" Yes, dear, I'm afraid it is.

He met Miri...

And was indifferent to her (while for her, it was pretty much love at first sight).

He had catnip and went blurry with joy.

While I admired his paws, and general beauty. (He was a bit rounder, then, wasn't he?)

Every day, I took more photos of him. Clearly, I was in love.

And after all, who wouldn't be?

Just too cute.

Don't even bother arguing. This is some serious belly.

At this rate, the post will be ten miles long. We're only up to two months! Let me try to pick only the best.

April 2010, the classic "dive" sleep pose.

And the "cats are so graceful, thlurp" pose.

By May, Miri was consistently getting close to him.

And one of my favorites, the "hey, how YOU doing?" look.

In July, what appears to be two halves of different cats, glued together.

Doesn't everyone sleep this way?

Perfectly comfortable, right?

By September, Carlos had come to realize that, no, I have no limits for when I will take cat photos.

On of many "sunshine on my kitty makes me happy" photos.

And by December, Miri's wishes had come true: a cat of her very own to snuggle with. Or at.

 Carlos plays peekaboo with 2011. One year here!

Almost yin-yang.

This one is from April 2011; I passed over dozens of adorable shots but I had to put up this one.

May. I just ... I ... too many cute pictures!

June, propping up the bedside table.

November: "I don't know why you put a sweater on the cat hammock, woman. 'Drying rack,' what's that?"

Fast asleep, and looking like he's about to drip off the edge.

January 2012, two years in, looking long-legged:

February: Noble Cat Looks Noble.

March: "What are we blocking today?"

April: "¿Que?"

May 2012. Such a stress-ball.

June. "May I have a word with you?"

"The clicky thing. It is too loud. You woke me."

July, keeping me company on the computer.

In December, demonstrating that some of my knitting could have been meant for him.

January 2013, looking disapproving at three years in.

An open window in March is a thing of joy.

As are his paws, of which I have many, many pictures.

"Don't let the bear see that!"

In July, he wanted to be sure I knew he was ignoring me.

And, another night, just sleeping cute.

And in September, apparently singing. "Oh, sole meow!"

October, perplexed by pumpkins.

And snuggling with his mama.

 In January 2014, it was four years, and he continued to be knitting/blocking supervisor.

In February, we began the short-lived Tonto/George Experiment. This moment of calm was the exception.

And by mid-March, his lordship was a solo cat again. Clearly stressed about it, too.

Free to ponder such weighty questions as, "Are there enough soft things here to suit me?"

"Also, put that down and give me treats!"

In May, we muse on perspective. The literal kind.

In June, I brought Miss Belmont home, and even before the face-to-face, he could smell something was going on. "Who is this?"

I believe his main thought here is, "Oh. Great. Another cat."

By July, he was expressing cautious curiosity, when he could avoid her hissing.

And, in August, he was still smugly certain of who was mama's favorite (he's right, too).

He was not a fan of the Halloween wig on his ears. In my defense, it only stayed on long enough for a few pictures.

And that brings us to the present, five years in and here's to many, many more. Right, buddy?

 "Yes, I am all that. I know it."

Happy anniversary, baby.