Benefits for her revised lifestyle, should have included a trimmer figure, improved moods, decreased stress, perhaps heart health, however, her regular jog got her some inquisitive attention from the small furry kind. A tortoiseshell cat followed her home and he seemed intent on staying. Ziva saw him as she jogged by a cold campfire, he was pawing the ash, eager to retrieve leftover fish, but the embers were warm. Since Patches moved in Ziva had stopped carrying her spare chicken, this scene changed her mind, that was a month ago and this feline had placed his pawprints on her heart.
Ziva named her visitor Asher, he would sit crying on the porch, butting his head against the door when she opened it a fraction. Introducing this eager companion would be difficult since Patches chased most suitors and had domain over the house. Leaving Asher outside was onerous, determined to adopt Ziva and this home. Asher laid, his body elongated, tail flicked, Ziva tested the waters, Patches gave him a disinterested glance, a warning hiss as she puffed her fur. He yawned, stretches his legs, uncurling his paws, with zero intention of leaving this heaven, sundrenched spot. Patches continued, she enjoyed rolling, a special spot on the grass, a place she could keep an eye on the rouge.
In the evening she knew Asher would be pacing, pouncing on leaves caught by the breeze. Patches curled on the sofa awaiting her tummy rubs, a few spots of rain and Ziva knew the porch was the wrong place for there new friend. Opening the door, an inquisitive Patches hissed and disappeared, she kept her eye on the invited stranger. Tentative, Asher crept, his body stiff, unsure if Patches would give chase. Spying the food he moved swift, hungry to get his fill, Patches jumped back on the sofa unimpressed at the sharing and rejected Ziva’s affectionate head scratch. He might find the sofa an unwelcoming place, however, a catnip toy Patches disregarded made for an interesting post-meal frenzied attack.
Asher settled, Ziva wondered whether he had known the warmth of a home, he interrupted Patches time with Ziva, gaining her attention. His bum raised in the air, a wiggle and pouncing on the toy. Ziva fussed him, the toy presented, proud purring and Patches nuzzled desperate to take back her owner’s hand. As the original cat, Patches protected what she saw as her area, she lept on the sofa, puffing her fluffy body and arching her back, confused by Asher’s response. He rolled over, body stretched, paws patting the air, everything Patches did to deter this intruder, Asher perceived as an invitation to play.
Patches seemed to tolerate the stray invading her home, she laid her rules for Asher to follow, rules he loved to push. He found ways to stay close to Ziva, mirroring Patches. Ziva puzzled over the game design, a cat slept on either side of her chair, it was the most peace they had given each other all day, she found their curled bodies, occasional snore distracting. Work had been monotonous, her social life had been quieter, many of her friends were settling down, and she found herself a mother of two furbabies. Eliza had her realising family was something she had desired, but borrowing her niece a few times a month was no substitute for the life she was missing.
By the Grace of Sim Gods 