My Sweet Brat

If she were human, Nell would be diagnosed with a personality disorder. I am quite thankful that she is feline for many reasons, mostly because she is so good at being a cat, and because I don't have to pay for antipsychotic medication. Nell is a sweetheart. She has the cutest, high pitched, little girl kitty voice and a gentle trill whenever she jumps up on my lap. Her big eyes and small body build are so adorable, and she purrs delightedly when I rub her ears. Watching her sleep, all curled up with a paw thrown over her eyes, you'd never know that lurking in this little girl is the brattiest sister you'd ever want to know.
This face can scowl like no one's business; if looks could kill, her sibling cats would have spent their nine lives long ago. She delivers a swat to anyone at home who happens to irk her for some reason. Even our 85 pound collie has been disciplined by Miss Nell. And poor Ollie...For some reason, Nell doesn't like Oliver. AT ALL. He is such a gentle, quiet, unassuming guy, but she doesn't like him and wastes no opportunity to make him remember that. For Christmas we got the cats a 3 tier play tree, and Oliver's favorite spot is on the top, where he can survey the living room undisturbed...unless Nell decides that she should be there. She'll climb the tree and swat at him from an inferior position until he jumps down, whereupon she will assume his previous spot, but only for a moment. Business accomplished, she'll jump down and go take a nap somewhere, curled up with a paw thrown over her face, sleeping like an angel.