I am a Cat Bed

From Stanley Kubrick’s point of view my purpose in life is to keep him cuddly-warm and cozy when he sleeps. Being an 11 pound orange tabby of most unique style and personality, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. His sister, or HRH Gracie as she is known, is terribly embarrassed by his behavior, but then she’s the one wearing gray and orange polka-dot pajamas.

It’s not that I mind being Stanley’s cat bed. I’m portable with a build-in heater. If I’m in our purple, leather recliner he’s in my lap. When I’m laying on my side, he’s perched on my hip; when I’m on my back, he’s on my chest or belly. And none of that is really so bad. But I draw the line at his recent slip in etiquette.

I was sleeping on my back and was suddenly awakened by a certain orange and white cat leaping on to my head and settling over my face with his soft, white belly. I’m not sure what I said but it was probably something I really can’t write in a G-rated blog. He scrambled. But not before communicating through our special, secret, telepathic language that he was only trying to stop the snoring. Whatever, Stanley! Whatever!!

Both of my cat friends were rescues kitties adopted from Brother Wolf in Asheville, NC. I treasure my them. I wish I could adopt many more. But then I’d be known as the middle-aged women who lives with cats….and snores (on occasion).

When I recently felt a bit poorly, Gracie stuck beside me and nursed me back to health. Stanley brings humor to every day. I feed them, scoop their boxes and adore them. The more I open my heart to them, the happier we all are in this house of love. Everything else is just details.