Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Every morning is the same. I get up, turn the computer on, get out a bowl, pour cereal in, pour milk on. I sit in front of the computer to read email and the news, and Joey meows at me. She really, really wants to lick the bowl for that tiny taste of milk.
Joey papoose.
I don't let her have much, it makes her barf. But she really, really likes that little taste of milk, that I can't not let her have it. Afterwards she climbs up on my lap and butts me with her head. That means, "Pet me!" and so I do. Sometimes I roll her on her back and tuck her into my shirt and she lies there, reaching up to grab my hand or pat my chin, looking for attention.
Joey is not a perfect cat. There was the nightmarish year of her peeing on the furniture, back when she was mad at the two extra cats that I found a new home for. And she's good for a scratch now and then when you don't expect it. But still every morning I look forward to her asking for that little taste of milk.
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Joey papoose.
I don't let her have much, it makes her barf. But she really, really likes that little taste of milk, that I can't not let her have it. Afterwards she climbs up on my lap and butts me with her head. That means, "Pet me!" and so I do. Sometimes I roll her on her back and tuck her into my shirt and she lies there, reaching up to grab my hand or pat my chin, looking for attention.
Joey is not a perfect cat. There was the nightmarish year of her peeing on the furniture, back when she was mad at the two extra cats that I found a new home for. And she's good for a scratch now and then when you don't expect it. But still every morning I look forward to her asking for that little taste of milk.
