Molly Weasley and I have a love/hate relationship. She’s a neurotic rescue dog. I’m a crazy pregnant lady. So, obviously, I loathe her very existence. Which is entirely unfair, as the cat is FAR WORSE than she is. I can’t help myself though. She breathes too loud, her claws clacking on the tile sound like nails on chalkboard, and her shedding is uncalled for. Some days I just want to give her a little hobo meal on a stick and send her packing. Meanwhile the cat has eaten five pacifiers in the past two weeks, stalked and bitten me, and pooped in the garage… and yet… she sleeps with me at night.
I never said it was logical.