Satellite of love. Sometimes, no, usually, it's great to be greeted by feather and fur when I get home. So much more so in the summer. Winter, it's dark and cold and usually wet and then it seems like the equivilant of Cinderella, Cinderella, feed me grisly substance, Cinderella, clean my cat box, Cinderella or I will pee in my favorite spot by the fridge, oh and sorry about that pile of hairball puke you just stepped in, Cinderella, take me for a walk, Cinderella, or I will make your eyes roll back in your head with the mighty power of my dog farts, etc. It's basically the same in summer, only it's: summer.

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