Yes, it is true! I spent the last couple of nights sleeping with two to three of my four cats. I fell asleep on the sofa. I woke up with Max on my chest in a deep sleep and Zeus asleep with his head in my lap. Kitty Kitty was asleep on the back of the couch close by my head. Tigger was in another room ignoring us.
At times Tigger will come close by and schmooze with me when the others are busy. Often I turn and find him staring at me intensely through the lens of his large, orange eyes that match his equally orange coat of fur. He is skittish and yet craves to be close on his own terms and in his own time. He will drape himself over the top of the couch placing one paw delicately on my shoulder as he sleeps.
I am a dog person. It's true. All four of these cats are adopted. I love them yet I am a dog person. I want a dog. My lifestyle does not leave room for the attention a dog needs but does leave room for the felines of our home. They are independent, opinionated, quick to judge and slow to forgive. Except when they are not that way, and they set that schedule, and they become soft, cuddly, possessive, demanding lap space, neck space, head scratching time, and my complete commitment to staying in the same position until their time is done and, you guessed it...they set that schedule. I have become, without malice or forethought, a cat person. They are perfect for this time of our lives. It must have been divine intervention.
As I write this the grey cat is asleep on the table behind the laptop, the orange cat is asleep at my feet, Max, the adventurer, is outside and curled up on a step snoozing and observing the neighborhood and the Siamese, kinda sorta Siamese, is slacking in a chair near me. I am surrounded by snoozing, feline love. I need it. They offer it. For now, until tonight, when they become possessed by the spirit of ferocity, chasing one another, waiting for a chance to pounce on each other, leaping over chairs, sliding on the slick, kitchen floor, crouching around a corner with their backsides arched into the air and their tail hair flared out as the tail snaps back and forth. Their backside begins to swing in a slight side to side motion. The intensity is palpable. The pounce is quick, quiet, effective and the victim's loud meow a reward for the victor.
It is a day later and after midnight. I went outside to call Max home. Wherever he had gone it took him awhile to come running to me. The moon was and still is, I assume, full and bright. A wind had come up since I was outside earlier in the evening. The night evoked a yearning in me. I do not have a name for it. Max is a black cat. He moved towards me blending with shadows then visible on the pavement as he passed through a patch of moonlight. Branches swayed to and fro in the warm late night wind. I scooped Max up into my arms nestling his head under my chin, nuzzling his warm cat hair while murmuring my love of him into his ears. I was rewarded with a soft purring sound. As I stepped up the deck steps I glanced in through the living room window into two pair of cat eyes watching my every move, anticipating this nightly ritual of the door opening, Max sliding from my arms into the living room, the door closing as these cats of mine and I head to their food bowls. Late night feed and maybe some cuddle time on the couch or not. It is their decision. Anyone who attempts to cuddle a cat who does not welcome it gets what they deserve.
This tiny evil thought of how much a puppy would humble these arrogant creatures passes through my head. It is enough for me that I have the secret knowledge of how to gain payback should I choose that option. I pretend that knowledge evens the playing field.
