2.00am and up he comes. Up the stairs, yelling his head off. He’ll be dripping wet. Loves the rain. Loves jumping on the bed beside me, wet as a sheep due for the spin cycle.
Wet cats do dry out quickly. Damp sheets need time.
All is forgiven. That soul warming vibration of a cat’s purr. Claws kneeding, piercing the sheets. True love.
Cats hear stuff we don’t. Tiniest whispie rustles in the grass. A small being conducting his quiet day, or night, under our couch. Best, when His Fluffkins, upstairs, is zonked out, not of this world, dreaming of the fridge door, while downstairs, soundlessly, I place a loaded cat dish on the floor.
And from upstairs Whoomph!
Just wondering, does he see me as adorable as I find him? He knows the sound of my car, From his ‘jungle’ of long grass he will emerge, calling with delight. To see me? Prospect of a treat? Then to plot the next 2.00am dripping and plodding over my bed. Who needs a decent night’s sleep when . . .
David in Pen and Pics 