I don’t know how my human grandparents talked my human uncle into accepting a sister, but I can honestly say I don’t like my new baby sister. She is not someone I want to hang out with. She spends a lot of time sitting on Dad’s lap. That used to be one of my favorite places to sit. She also talks all of the time, but she really doesn’t say anything of value. She asks Dad questions, but he doesn’t understand what she’s saying. Fred steps in to give her answers. He also likes to give her baths like he did for me. He uses that great big tongue to wash her from head to tail. Of course, she has to do the same to herself immediately after he finishes. I’m sure I had been more courteous than that when I was a baby. I know he was doing his best, and I would have waited at least an hour before giving myself a bath.
She makes a funny humming noise as Dad pets her. I think I remember that my birth mother did something like that. I do the same thing when Mom holds me, but it isn’t something that can be heard. Mom likes to put her hand under my chin as I do it. She says I’m special because I have a silent purr. She says I am the first cat she has ever had that is like that. She and Dad talk about cats they have had in the past who purred so loud, it could be heard all over the house. Sophia isn’t that loud, but I still don’t like to listen to her.
Mom got Sophia a pink harness. It is such a girly thing. I like that my harness has been either red or blue or a mixture of both as I have grown. They’ll probably get her pink ones forever. I’m surprised they don’t tie a frilly little ribbon around her neck. Girls are such a waste. Except Mom. I know Mom’s a girl, but she doesn’t wear pink or anything frilly. Sometimes when we have camped, she will wear rugged shorts with lots of pockets and boots. She and Fred like to go hiking together. I would love to go with them, but they probably walk faster than I would like. I’ll just settle for short walks around campgrounds. Sophia is too little to even do that. I’m proud of being a big boy.

