Have you read Steven King's "Misery"? Have you seen the movie? I haven't. But I know the subject matter.
See that chap in the picture up there? His name is Neil Patrick Harris. I brought him home a few weeks ago. What followed was a series of Facebook status updates about NPH locked in the TV room in my basement. To the uninformed reader, it seemed like I had kidnapped the human Neil Patrick Harris, and had him hobbled and locked in my basement.
All fun-and-games aside, I've been... a frazzled kitty-mommy in these first few weeks. While he was shut up in the TV room, I was worried about his eating habits, how he was constantly hiding. Then one day after he had free reign of the house, I couldn't find him when I got home from work. I freaked out, crying like a lunatic. He was fine, just hiding in the furnace room where I never go.
He's a lot more comfortable now. He even ventures up the stairs when he's feeling brave. Of course, he's kind of become attached to me. He meows a lot. He actually comes when I call him (sometimes he takes his time, but sometimes he comes running). He likes being petted.
He's a strange cat. He has no interest in catnip, but he has been known to chase his tail. I've seen it happen. He seems to get sad and upset when I'm not paying attention to him. It's like I got a fluffy cat-shaped puppy that knows how to use a litter box. But he does purr a lot. I like the purring.
I like having a cat. It's nice to have a pet and a companion. But it's still new. I'm still getting used to it. But I'm happy.
I'm already in love with the Neil Patrick Harris who lives in my basement.
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