Thunderstorms make my cats love me.

It’s pouring outside. House-shaking thunder, lightning, the whole bit. Just a little scene setting for y’all (I lived in Oklahoma, I’m allowed to say y’all). 

My dad’s cat is normally an evil psychopath with a vendetta against anyone that isn’t dad, so our relationship is just me setting down cat food and her swatting at me to walk away before she eats the cat food. She is five pounds of anger and fur.

At the first crack of thunder, the furry demon snapped out of her slumber (where she was plotting my demise, no doubt) and scurried into the study where I was, my 14lb behemoth of a cat scampering after her. My cat demanded to be held and cuddled, while dad’s cat perched on the desk, stealing furtive glances at me to make sure everything was okay without revealing how terrified she was. 

Because creatures of fire and brimstone are totally not afraid of thunderstorms. Duh. 

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