Trying to be strong

Sunday is going to be a sad day indeed. On Sunday, the cats go to their new mommy's house. I'm writing this just after I watched Breakfast at Tiffany's and had Boots sleep on my feet the entire time, one arm draped over my ankle. These little buggers have kept me up countless hours at night with their shenanigans, but when I need them, I can count on them falling asleep against some random part of my body. Currently, they are sitting on the couch beside me, half sleeping, half watching my computer screen. They keep giving me a sleepy eyed look, wondering when I'm going to pack up the computer and head to bed. They are much more content when Lucas is not around. He's out at the bar (who would have thought he'd be the barstar?). Boots and him have a love-hate relationship. Mostly hate. Boots only loves him for 10 minutes after he gets out of the shower. Koy is becoming ever more of a suck, cuddling up to me when I pick him up. When I first start to wake up in the morning, he gives a little purred 'good morning' meow and hops on the bed, walks around my pillow then falls asleep again on my stomach or back, depending on how I'm laying in the bed. For the next two weeks, there's going to be no one to greet us at the door as if they had been sitting there all day waiting for the moment Luc and I come home. There's going to be no more incessant meowing for hours on end starting at 7am. There's going to be no more purring or scratching. Ginger Ale better give me some kitty love when I come home in December.