They never listen. They wriggle themselves out of my grasp when I hold them. Emre would resort to biting me. Rumi would go all dramatic, roll on the floor and tell me he doesn't love me.
But all it takes is patience. Because when we go home Rumi would fall asleep with his face tucked under my neck. Emre, in his weird diction would tell me he loves me even if his bite marks are starting to hurt a little.
Everyday I tell myself I'm so blessed to have them. Life is too short to be angry at them all the time.
