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The Obligatory Cat Post
Mar. 22nd, 2008 | 02:33 pm
One of the advantages and drawbacks of having a top-floor apartment is that we can appreciate a lovely day without actually going outside. Sitting here at my desk I can look up and see the city west of Van Ness, a crust of buildings with light colored facades reflecting the sun, Sacramento Street rising up the hill towards Pacific Heights, the green bulge of a park, the twin spires of Mission Dolores on one side, the Golden Gate on the other. If stand up, I can even see surf breaking against the shore just beyond the bridge.
YOU can’t see it because the camera on this computer faces into the room. You can, however, appreciate the sunlight coming in and perhaps make out the yellow smudge of our cat in his customary place on the sofa. In defiance of all common sense, I’m going to sit here and type instead of going out into this beautiful day. And I’m going to type about an indoor subject. Our cat.
Herewith, the obligatory cat post.
Yes, we have a cat. We love our cat. He is large. He is orange. He is aggressive and unmistakably a guy cat. He does not like to be held. He does not like to sit in laps. He purrs, but he purrs quietly from some motor buried deep within and muffled behind all that sinew, muscle and yellow fur.
He likes to be in the same room with us, in a location where he can see us both plainly, and he permits us to feed him, pet him, brush him, and rub his stomach. We adopted him fully grown seven years ago after the black and white kitten I’d picked out at the shelter hissed at M and made it plain she hated him on sight. Our cat took one look at my husband and stretched himself full length against the glass of his little cell, clearly saying, “I want THAT one.” In as blatant an example of false advertising as I’ve ever seen, he curled up in M’s lap and allowed himself to be cuddled while I filled out the paperwork.
It’s all about sucking up to the alpha male. M is his human, and I am an auxiliary human. He seems to believe that M is far too lenient with the female in the household. Among my offenses are using the cordless phone, picking up the remote, and speaking suddenly in a normal tone of voice, all of which will sometimes get me an enraged, deep throated rebuke and, if I’m sitting on the sofa, an attack. Not a serious attack, of course, but he does march over, stiff-legged, his eyes blazing, takes my arm in his mouth and sits there, growling around the wool of my sweater until I pry his jaws open and dump him on the floor.
Every now and then he’ll remember that he is supposed to at least attempt to supplant the alpha male, and he’ll up the ante of these attacks by tugging at my arm as if to get me to go somewhere with him. Once I decided to humor him and allowed him to hop down onto the floor, my arm still in his mouth (the rest of me following). He set my arm on the floor, sat beside it for a minute, licking his lips, then tried to have his way with it. I don’t humor him any more.
Sometimes he exhibits some tenderness towards me. Every once in a great while, if I sleep too late, he will move over from where he’s spent the night curled up against M’s legs, tip-toe up to my pillow and gently, romantically, kiss me just behind my ear. When I open my eyes he tells me it’s time to get up, go into the kitchen and open a can.
This has led me to do at least one Google on names from my past. I’m halfway convinced he’s the reincarnation of someone I used to date.
YOU can’t see it because the camera on this computer faces into the room. You can, however, appreciate the sunlight coming in and perhaps make out the yellow smudge of our cat in his customary place on the sofa. In defiance of all common sense, I’m going to sit here and type instead of going out into this beautiful day. And I’m going to type about an indoor subject. Our cat.
Herewith, the obligatory cat post.
Yes, we have a cat. We love our cat. He is large. He is orange. He is aggressive and unmistakably a guy cat. He does not like to be held. He does not like to sit in laps. He purrs, but he purrs quietly from some motor buried deep within and muffled behind all that sinew, muscle and yellow fur.
He likes to be in the same room with us, in a location where he can see us both plainly, and he permits us to feed him, pet him, brush him, and rub his stomach. We adopted him fully grown seven years ago after the black and white kitten I’d picked out at the shelter hissed at M and made it plain she hated him on sight. Our cat took one look at my husband and stretched himself full length against the glass of his little cell, clearly saying, “I want THAT one.” In as blatant an example of false advertising as I’ve ever seen, he curled up in M’s lap and allowed himself to be cuddled while I filled out the paperwork.
It’s all about sucking up to the alpha male. M is his human, and I am an auxiliary human. He seems to believe that M is far too lenient with the female in the household. Among my offenses are using the cordless phone, picking up the remote, and speaking suddenly in a normal tone of voice, all of which will sometimes get me an enraged, deep throated rebuke and, if I’m sitting on the sofa, an attack. Not a serious attack, of course, but he does march over, stiff-legged, his eyes blazing, takes my arm in his mouth and sits there, growling around the wool of my sweater until I pry his jaws open and dump him on the floor.
Every now and then he’ll remember that he is supposed to at least attempt to supplant the alpha male, and he’ll up the ante of these attacks by tugging at my arm as if to get me to go somewhere with him. Once I decided to humor him and allowed him to hop down onto the floor, my arm still in his mouth (the rest of me following). He set my arm on the floor, sat beside it for a minute, licking his lips, then tried to have his way with it. I don’t humor him any more.
Sometimes he exhibits some tenderness towards me. Every once in a great while, if I sleep too late, he will move over from where he’s spent the night curled up against M’s legs, tip-toe up to my pillow and gently, romantically, kiss me just behind my ear. When I open my eyes he tells me it’s time to get up, go into the kitchen and open a can.
This has led me to do at least one Google on names from my past. I’m halfway convinced he’s the reincarnation of someone I used to date.