When we were first talking about getting a cat (back in 2010), my former roommate Cassandra said it couldn’t be her cat because if it loved one of us (Alyssa or I) more than her, she’d be mad. She wouldn’t be able to handle less than its complete devotion. I, on the other hand, just wanted a cat so I said it would be mine and didn’t care so much who it liked most as long as it liked me at all. So I adopted Smirnoff. He loved Cassandra.
Smirnoff would wait for Cassandra to open her bedroom door in the morning and run in, jump on her bed, and paw at the air. He made tiny squeaks, begging for any attention he’d give her, and then would purr like a motor until she put him down to get ready for work. He was always trying to get into her room, and because he also had a habit of knocking everything over, would often be shut out. But he’d always be excited to see her… unlike how he was with me.
Not that Smirnoff was ever not excited to see me. But our relationship was always much different. Especially after I adopted Bacardi. He didn’t forgive me for that for over a month and a cold cat shoulder is practically glacial. But Smirnoff did eventually forgive me for bringing a new cat into the apartment (and of course now Bacardi is his best friend). However, he hardly ever purrs for me. And when he does, it’s very quiet. He shows contentment when I pet him and comes meowing when he wants food or playtime or sometimes snuggle time. But he doesn’t purr.
Ten Thousand Kittens 