What is one thing that your pet does that warms your heart? Yes, I expect you to answer me in a comment. 🙂
Even now, as I sit in my brown microfiber recliner typing this, Miss Emmy, or “Emca“, as I like to say, keeps me company on the arm rest with her front paws curled under her chest. Sometimes, she demands attention by walking over my stomach while I’m typing and will even go so far as to knead my belly. I’ve tried to get her to knead my back because it’d feel like I was getting a back massage, but I guess she feels my belly is more “cushion-y”. She always seems to want attention while I’m typing. That’s ok. It makes me feel a little bit like Ernest Hemingway, except I have 2 cats vying for my affection as opposed to Hemingway’s dozens of feline friends.
I think it’s no secret that I love my “Nigel kitty“. I also call him my “baby kitty“, even though he’s far from being a baby, in age and in size. One might say he’s a “fat kitty“, but he’s still my kitty, nonetheless.
This morning while I lay in my cozy bed wearing my ocean blue eye mask I could feel the addition of a third party- a kitty. Was it Emmy or Nigel? Emmy would have meowed almost immediately upon jumping up onto the bed. She’s extremely vocal when it comes to informing me she wants her breakfast. I can determine, though, which cat is present just by petting the hair. Even though Nigel and Emmy look so much alike and are both short hair cats, the feel of one’s hair compared to the other is different. I refrain from petting and wait for a few seconds. If it’s Nigel, he will use his forehead to “headbutt” me. He uses his forehead to ram me in the face. It doesn’t hurt. I’ll position my face so that he headbutts me on the cheek or my forehead. It’s his way of saying, “Good morning mama. I love you, but I’m not going to stop bugging you until you get up and give me my crunchies.” He doesn’t know, though, that he’s not bothering me. I love the headbutts.
I’ve been getting up at 7:15 in the morning, before Paul leaves for work, just so I can feed the kitties, because even though Nigel isn’t a bother, Emmy is a different story. Her Highness will not stop talking until her breakfast has been served. After which, I am relieved of my duties until the next morning and I return to my post- the bed.
Nigel finishes his breakfast and sits on the floor, eyes closed, using his sand paper-y rose petal of a tongue to lick his paw and sweep it over his face to clean himself. I know it’s just a matter of time before he retires to our bed again. So, while I’m snuggled underneath Grandma Sevek’s homemade red quilt, Nigel comes to join me for his after-breakfast-catnap. I’m a side sleeper and Nigel’s favorite place to curl up is right in the crook of my bent legs.
The navy blue drapes are drawn shut, blocking the entry of all light. While the rain pitter-patters on the roof up above and the wind outside forces the trees to dance, I lay snuggled underneath Grandma’s quilt with Nigel cozied up beside me and all is peaceful and quiet.