I have a male in my life.

His name is Austen. He's of mixed ethnicity--he's got both black and white in him. Like most males, he can be a little slow sometimes when it comes to picking up on things. He can be annoyingly persistent in trying to get what he wants. He doesn't communicate nearly enough, and a lot of the time, I am bending over backwards, trying to figure out what the hell he wants from me.

But he loves to cuddle. He's very intuitive at times--he knows when I need emotional support (when don't I, really?), and he is usually right there, doing what he can to help. I met him soon after I moved to California, and it was one of the best things I could do for myself, letting him into my life.

I woke up in bed with him, the morning after I had told M. I didn't want to be with him anymore. Austen was there, cuddled up to my chest, trying to give me kisses. He understood.

And he's got a wonderful, soothing, gentle way about him, even when he purrs.
Yeah, he's my cat, the love of my life. For now. I may be a single librarian who's crazy about her kitty, but I am no crazy cat lady. I'm just a single girl, in a big state of a lot of strangers, with a kitty that knows me very well. It's not always going to be like this--someday, hopefully sooner rather than later, I am going to kick Austen out of the bed for some male, of more homo sapien inclinations. And he knows it, and he loves me anyway. The unconditional love of pets is one of the biggest comforts in this life.