Technically, Missy is my cat. In other words, if John and I were ever to break up, the fur ball comes with me. Fortunately, I don’t think that could happen because I don’t think Missy would survive too long without her daddy.
I don’t even remember when I started referring to John and me as daddy and mommy, but it’s kind of stuck. (Kind of like her name in the first place. I have a good friend named Missy who I used to attend church with so it seemed odd to have a pet with the same name. But it’s what her former owners called her so we kept it.)
Anyways, Missy is definitely a daddy’s girl. And rightfully so. Sure, she loves me, in fact she’s passed out right now and looks pretty much like this
She usually sleeps with me and she can even tell the sound of my car compared to the other cars in the apartment complex.
She loves playing in a play center that he bought just for her. In fact, she even “helped” put it together.
This is her playing in the center and by the way, it’s John that she’s looking at with such adoration!
Missy adores her daddy but he’s pretty fond of her too. He baby talks to her, buys “people food” just for her and of course buys her toys. He’s the only person who she lets hold her for any amount of time. She also obeys him better than anyone else, it’s like they’ve established a good respectful relationship. During the week when John and I can’t see each other I know he misses me but I think part of him also misses our little fur baby.