Okay, I Get It!

My cat does not like to be picked up. She just doesn't. She's all kinds of affectionate otherwise. She runs to greet you when she hears the front door open, rubbing up against your legs and purring and rolling over so that you can pet her tummy. And if you enter with your hands full, say of groceries, and you cannot give her the bellyrubs she requires, she'll run in front of you and roll over until you have fulfilled your tummy-petting duty. But don't scoop her up. She fucking hates that.

I'm usually pretty good about respecting her kitty indendence because, you know, I like it when people respect my Megan independence. I try not to scoop her unless I'm weighing her fat kitty ass to see if the kitty diet's paying off.

Today, though, something went awry. Something spooked her and she scratched the shit out of me, in three places, trying to get away. And it fucking hurt. So you know what? No more scooping. We'll both be better off that way. I mean, I'll be a little lonely, but Luna will be in hog heaven.