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Bruce is out of town this weekend, so it's all up to me to take care of the cats. Not that it's a hard job. Anyone who owns a cat knows they are very low maintenance and basically do everything on their own. Also, I took care of Julian alone for over seven years, three of those with Abbey and Apple. So I knew I could handle things.

We make owning our cats harder by controlling their diet. We don't leave food in a bowl for them to graze on; they have set feeding times. This is done for various reasons, which I won't get into here.

Either way, Bruce feeds them before he leaves for work every morning at 7:30 a.m. I'm not even considering getting up at this time, so I was certain they would wake me to feed them. I outsmarted them by feeding them at like 3 a.m. before I went to bed.

Life carried on this weekend as normal, with the exception of my arrival home after work. Before moving in with Bruce, I was greeted each night by my three cats at the door, meowing, rolling on the carpet, just in general happy to see me. Now that they have Bruce to keep them company at night, me getting home wasn't even a blip on their radar. Most nights I would have to call Julian downstairs to see me. I'd hunt down Abbey, only to have her lift her head, yawn at me as if to say, 'Oh, you're home,' and then go back to sleep.

The greetings returned, which I was pleased to see. My sister once told me that dogs were better than cats because hers greeted her at the door, while cats didn't. Mine always did, before the move. I can see why she feels that way.

Happily, nothing strange happened while Bruce was gone, and with him back, they will fall back into their old routine. But the time with just them was nice since I got all of their attention. I'm greedy like that.