When we get into bed, in very little time we feel Eleanor's leap over the footboard, so that we now ask her "What took you so long?" In the morning, she often comes to me for a cuddle, perching on my chest, nosing under my chin, until the clock chimes. When I don't have to get up, she wriggles and turns, and turns, and turns, to be scritched and stroked.
Wednesday morning, she had her front paws on my ribs, back paws on my clavicle, haunch against my cheek and tail wrapping around my head. I put a hand on her and chuckled. This morning, lying on my side, she climbs over my arm, eventually settles as I curl around her, her face in blissful repose inches from my own, front paws over my shoulder, my hand over her body. She purrs so quietly it's hard to hear, but I feel it. I am hers.
Mammals know this language of affection, crossing trivial genetic differences.
When I need to move, turning as she goes birling over me, eventually I disentangle and stagger to the bathroom. In the music room, D is sitting on the stool, Moby on his chair. "He really wanted to sit on the chair. For a while, he didn't mind sitting on me on the chair, but as soon as I got up... ." This is not uncommon.
And why not please our furry fellows? Small kindnesses of regard and accommodation take so little, give so much. This is our family. They comfort us when we are tired or ill, or upset. Not our children, nor we their kittens, but kith and kin.
Good Summer, Happy Solstice.
3 comments:
happy solstice to you!
Happy longest day. It was beautiful here, even with the mosquitoes.
Our cat sleeps mostly either on me, or up against me. That is, on nights he is inside the home; during the summer we let him out and sometimes he spends the night outside.
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