I had a funny story to tell you about the glare Sherman gives me when I try to put him outside for a bathroom break, but after I had a hot, hot bath tonight to thaw my frozen carcass, raised the thermostat another notch, and wrapped up in my fuchsia bathrobe, the plan changed.
Leroy is to blame. Every time I sit down, particularly if I’m wearing my fuzzy housecoat, I have about six seconds until there is a rather slow white cat vying for a spot on my lap. Like so:
The situation has intensified since our Alberta weather has nosedived into true winter territory. Although Leroy wears a cruelty-free fur coat in all seasons, he never seems to be warm enough. This is the feline who manages to find a sunbeam in the warmest part of the house in August, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he wants to snuggle when it’s so cold outside. If Leroy, who is a 100% indoor kitty, had any idea how chilly it is beyond the cosy walls of the dollhouse, I think he would die of shock: he’s lucky we spoil him so relentlessly.
What starts with a pleading stare quickly becomes a determined shove onto my lap, where Leroy begins doing what we’ve called “making bread” in my family for as long as I can remember. He presses his wee paws into my leg and purrs as though he’s about to attempt liftoff. Often, he creates a puddle of enthusiastic slobber in the process. In kneading me tonight, he reminded me I desperately need to clip his nails again. Message received, small friend, in a row of punctures on my thigh.
After he has adequately tenderized his intended nest, Leroy finally settles down to hang out. As long as he is touching the person he wants to cuddle, he will put up with just about anything. We can cut his claws with very little struggle. Tickling his toes just makes him purr more vibrantly and look more confused than usual. I can give him a noogie, sing him Celine Dion songs, or use his tail as a hairy pirate sword: he is completely unfazed. It’s truly all about the snuggle for this furry dude.
Please don’t call the authorities about me singing Celine Dion songs to my cat. I repent. It will never happen again.
Maybe Leroy is just a very zen individual. Perhaps he is so immersed in inner peace that nothing can disturb his cat thoughts once he’s settled into a warm lap. Chances are, though, that he’s just too oblivious to realize we don’t always want to snuggle him, so he continues kneading and drooling and purring away, happy as my husband is in the tool aisle at Home Depot.
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