Seriously, I have the world’s best cat. No offense to my other cat, but The Kitten has a lot going for her in the way of personality (if not so much by name).
This cat will follow me all day long anywhere and everywhere. I know. This should be annoying. And in fact I’ve had cats who did this and excised a meow on me every chance they got. I wanted to kill them, or put them outside (one and the same). This cat, however, has an attitude something like a cozy pillow. I mean, when you turn and find a pillow on the couch, are you annoyed? Never. Add a purr and this is The Kitten.
A fat, soft, purring pillow everywhere you turn, most often when you feel a nap coming on. A pillow on four legs. One that spends most of the day flat out on her back, her white belly up to the world. I’ve spayed the one cat on earth who is a perfect density for back and side sleepers.
And here is where and how The Kitten spends every day (as do I):
The Bathroom. There is no room she will not brave. When I step from the shower, a glowing picture of beauty that would stun any human eye, The Kitten’s gaze holds steady. There she sits, on the bench by the shower, her head tucked under hanging towels, peeking out. To avoid ending up with a handful of hair that will come to rest in my cereal, I offer her tap on the nose. I think, she doesn’t even know my fur is missing. I find the ritual bizarre, slightly pornographic and totally awesome.
The Barstool. In the kitchen there are two matching barstools. One for me, and the same one for her apparently. If she looks at me looking at the stool, she beats a path to it.*
* Maneuvers her legs at a determined pace around the inch and a half of fat swaying under her defunct baby-making parts.
For whatever reason, she wants to have my stool. I move her to the matching stool. She says nothing. I get up to do anything and she moves over. I sit on her, then move her back. She says nothing. This will go on all day with only purring punctuating each transfer. It doesn’t matter which stool I put my laptop in front of, she wants that one. She knows and she isn’t saying how. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll come back and there will be a new 16-word sentence written.*
* This sentence appeared after a lengthy inventory taken of the fridge during lunch break.
The Bed. I’ve lived a lot of years with skinny and arrogant cats so I’m not about to turn out a fat and adoring one. And so each night she comes on board in two actions (1. Up and 2. Over) and settles in. If I’m on my side, she might decide to straddle me, two paws draped over my chest, two down my back, her chin on my shoulder, her purr in my ear. I can’t believe this. I think, I’m a crazy cat woman, would someone take a picture of this?
The Other Side of the Door. The Kitten is a bit of magic too. When I leave a room with her, I turn to find her already across the threshold of a 6-panel pine door, waiting. Not impatiently so. Just waiting, white belly pushing out between her front legs, not a worry in the world, a what’s up, let’s do this, where to next whisker stance going on. I think, Fat Cat, let’s go spend some of that magic.
The Food Bowl. The cat is big, we’ve covered that. But I have yet to discover how. She will not eat out of her bowl unless it’s fresh food. She will ignore a whole bowlful because she wants the stuff in the bag, in the cabinet. This is crap because the bag hanging open in the cabinet is just as ridden with air-borne staleness as the bowl is. So I ignore her. And she says nothing. But she doesn’t eat either. I think, Fine, let the dieting commence.
And as the day drags on, she will choose a few other times to sit quietly by the cabinet and consider her full food bowl and not eat. When I can’t stand the no-pressure pressure any more, I reach over and touch the top morsels and kick the side of the dish to freshen things up. This doesn’t fool her and, in fact, makes me look bad. But sometimes she will play along and eat the few I’ve touched. Usually, though, she waits for an un-fresh fresh layer to be applied.
I think, if I hand-feed her every bite, perhaps her size says a thing or two about my productivity during the day?
And there you have it, The Kitten. My pillow on paws. What’s not to love?