International Cat Day

Today is International Cat Day. I’ve blogged before about my Maine Coon Cat, Coed, but on this day, it seems fitting to do so again.

He’s a mama’s boy. We have our daily routine. It starts with me making my way to the coffee pot. He jumps down from the front window, where he’s spent the last little bit waiting for me to get out of bed, and follows me. All the time I’m making the coffee he is intertwining between my legs and, as Main Coon Cats do, he is chirping and talking to me. Sometimes I think it is just “hurry and get food in my dish”. But other times I swear he is telling me about guarding the house all night, or on the rare occasion I sleep in, I believe he is telling me how bad a mother I am for making him wait for his breakfast. I make my way to the fridge for my coffee cream and his can of food, holding on to the island countertop so I don’t trip over him. I divvy up the mornings ration to his dish and place in on his placemat on the floor and he settles in to snack away.

Once the coffee is made, my cup poured, and his breakfast done we make our way to the kitchen table. I sit with my feet up on another chair and he jumps up for his routine cuddle time. We sit like that while I read my emails, drink my coffee and coast my newsfeed on social media or until my legs get numb from his weight I have to put him down so the blood can start to circulate again.

Next, it’s off to the shower for me. I learned very early in our relationship that I must close the door to the en-suite or the cat will find his way into the shower with me. Maine Coon cats like water!

He waits, impatiently, outside the door for my return. He will chatter away and swish his paw back and forth under the door making sure I know he’s still there waiting and that I should hurry.

He jumps on the bed once I open the door where he waits for me to get dressed and then we head for my office, me in the lead and he, tail held high, waddling along behind. I sit in my chair and turn on the computer and he jumps up on the desk and lays behind my laptop. When he figures I need a break he will stand up and try to walk around the laptop, stepping on the keyboard and adding his paragraph to my story. No amount of talking or pushing will get him to leave until I push the laptop back on the desk to give him room to lay in front of it and I stroke his coat a few times and tell him how handsome he is. Then he settles back in his spot and we are off for another writing sprint.

As much as he can be a pain when I’m in a hurry, or trying to get that last sentence down, I’d never part with him and I know I couldn’t live without him. He’s a whole lot of unconditional love wrapped up in a furry, purring body. And did I mention that face?

About Linda O'Toole

Women's Fiction Author
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