Otis

Never while growing up would I have considered myself a cat person. But, of all the pets I could have let into my house, I chose Otis. Otis is a white cat with big black spots. On one side of him the spots look like a skull. He is pretty cool. Unless he is in a talkative mood.

Like this morning, he followed me around as I was getting ready for work with his loud yowl. I went into the bathroom, he sits on the back of the toiled and yowls. I wash my hands, he bats at my leg and yowls. I pick him up and he purrs and about falls out of my arms trying to get me to pet both sides of his head. Then I put him down, and he yowls.

I put on my scrub pants, he bats at the strings.  (Last night, he woke me up because he pulled the strings of some pajama bottoms out of the basket so he could attack them. ) He follows me downstairs, stops at the bottom of the steps and yowls. Into the kitchen, he yowls.

I have no idea what this cat is trying to tell me. He has food and fresh water. But seriously, this cat talks more than I do. THAT is saying something.