No, I didn't take a picture of myself holding Hubble and photoshop in Chloe. This is an actual, authentic photograph of her in my arms. Why is this so earth-shattering that it requires a blog post, you may ask? Well first of all, I needed to document the cuteness. Secondly, this cat didn't earn her nickname "The Assassin" because of her sweet demeanor. She is a bruiser.
Chloe is incredibly stand-offish, but my mom always holds her when we get storms because, despite her gruff exterior, she's a little baby when it comes to thunder and lightning. This year I summoned the courage to start scooping her up myself when she turns into a whimpering kitten at the first sign of rain. She's just gotten so chubby that it's made the urge to pick her up get stronger and stronger, despite the very real possibility that doing so could result in serious injury or death.
And once I picked her up the first time it was impossible to not do it again. I can't even make out any bones in there because they're so densely encased in muscle and fat. She's just a big soft furry blob. I feel so bad for her when it's storming, because I know she's terrified-- and honestly, I'd give up this window of cuddle-opportunity in a heartbeat if she could overcome her fear-- but it's kind of nice to finally be able to hug this un-hug-able cat that I love so so much.