It only took 13 years, but I think Marcy is starting to like me. Lately, when I’m laying in bed pouting (because douchebag Henry and his twatty attitude leave me perpetually suspended in 16-year-old limbo), Marcy pushes my bedroom door open and first, all I see is her big plumey tail, raised and curled up at the end. (This, along with her ferocious bite, is why I call her Shark Attack.) Then Marcy jumps on the bed, wherein she allows me to pet her approximately four strokes before either sinking her claws into me or clamping her jaw around my hand.
But it would feel weird if it didn’t end that way.
She’s my best friend. Even though she’s in love with Henry. She can have him.