April 14, 2010
The other day, I awoke to a sound not unlike a Buick with a rough idle. Then, a pair of pointy ears poked up, over the edge of the bed. Followed by the rest of my husband’s cat, Fluffer.
The DH insists that he does not want a cat. But when it comes to cats, the wants of humans do not enter into the equation. Fluffer decided, long ago, that she belonged to him. Or any other available male. She is the Blanche DuBois of cats.
I am the reason for her being a part of the household. I was the one who stood on the driveway watching the ground squirrels poking their heads up through all the holes that they’d dug in the yard. And I said aloud, 13 years ago, that “This place really needs a cat.”
Fluffer appeared 30 seconds later.
I was the one who fed her. And opened the front door for her.
She has been ignoring me, ever since. Except for those times when she is glaring, hissing, or trying to trip me on the stairs.
But suddenly, after all this time, she is affectionate.
Fluffer: (rubbing against my sleeping body and purring) Good morning, sleepy head.
Me: Go away.
Fluffer: (more purring, and some head butting) I said, Good morning!
Me: What do you want?
Fluffer: To tell you that I love you.
Fluffer: No, really. I don’t know why I never noticed this before. I love you. Pet me.
Me: (sneezing) Get your tail out of my face.
Fluffer: (staggering up and down the length of the bed) I love you. And I love being here. I love everything! Pet me! Pet Me! PET ME!!!!!!!!!!!!
(#2 walks by the door. A round eyed Fluffer looks around the room, in all the wrong directions, for the source of the noise.
Me: You’re stoned, aren’t you?
Me: You’ve been hitting the catnip again. You are high as a kite.
Fluffer: It’s an herb. God put it here so we can enjoy it.
Me: (Getting up and checking the toy in the hall) There’s a hole in this, and it’s spilling all over. Have you been eating it?
Fluffer: It talks to me. It’s my friend. I love it.
Fluffer: And I threw up.
Me: (wiping off bare foot). Found it.
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