I woke up to the feel of little paws carrying the weight of a large cat as he walked across my body. “Ow,” I said, reaching down to pet him.
He paused his journey across my abdomen to enjoy the attention. I endured as long as I could, then stopped petting to gently push him off me.
“Hey little guy,” I croaked, rubbing my eyes.
“Remember how you kicked me?” he said.
I groaned.
A gentle reminder of how we do things: 🐱🐶🐦
- Do not troll the diary. If you hate pootie diaries, leave now. No harm, no foul.
- Please do share pics of your fur kids! If you have health/behavior issues with your pets, feel free to bring it to the community.
- Pooties are cats; Woozles are dogs. Birds... are birds! Peeps are people.
- Whatever happens in the outer blog STAYS in the outer blog. If you’re having “issues” with another Kossack, keep it “out there.” This is a place to relax and play; please treat it accordingly.
- There are some pics we never post: snakes, creepy crawlies, any and all photos that depict or encourage human cruelty toward animals. These are considered “out of bounds” and will not be tolerated. If we alert you to it, please remember that we do have phobic peeps who react strongly to them. If you keep posting banned pics...well then...the Tigress will have to take matters in hand. Or, paw
In my defense, it was dark and he was lying on the floor in the doorway of my bathroom. I had gotten up to take care of some business and had stumbled, half asleep, right into him.
“I already apologized,” I said, reaching out to rub his head.
“You did,” he agreed.
“You forgave me,” I said. “You let me approach you and pet you.”
“That’s true,” he said.
We were silent for a moment.
“You kicked me pretty hard,” he said.
I dropped my head onto the mattress.
“Are you still sore?” I asked.
“Not really. I’m pretty tough.”
“You are! I’m sorry I kicked you and I’m glad you’re okay.”
He climbed onto my chest and settled in, his paws at the base of my throat and his face close to mine. This was his favorite “pet me” position.
I obliged, immediately.
“I forgive you,” he said.
I let out a breath. “Thank goodness,” I said. “You hungry?”
He didn’t answer, just jumped up and shot out of my room.
I walked into the kitchen and opened the cupboard to grab one of his wet food plates. He danced around my feet, rubbing his body against my calves and butting his head into the lower cupboard doors. “Take it easy,” I said, after a particularly hard head-but.
I stepped back, turning to the pantry for a can of food.
“Don’t step on me!” he yelled, darting behind the kitchen island.
I froze. “I wasn’t going to,” I said, slowly. I started to move again, but very slowly and deliberately.
He watched me from his safe spot behind the island.
I set the food down and backed up, giving him space.
He approached the food, watching me warily.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going to attack you,” I said, exasperated.
“Might kick me,” he muttered, then began to eat with enthusiasm.
Freshly showered and dressed, I speed walked down the stairs and straight to the kitchen to make my breakfast and lunch. I quickly sliced a bagel in half and dropped it into the toaster, then turned to fill my lunch bag for the day.
“Watch where you’re going!” Freddie barked from the edge of the kitchen.
“I’m not anywhere near you,” I said, bewildered.
“I could have been sleeping right there,” he said, indicating the space at my feet.
“Well that would be a silly place to sleep!” I snapped back. “You have like a thousand beds!”
“Your eyes should always be on your feet,” he lectured, then turned and left before I could respond.
I came home that night, entering through the garage door. Arms full, I walked past the washer and dryer and into the house, vaguely wondering if Freddie was still upset.
I paused when I spotted him, curled up at the top of his kitty condo.
“You can’t kick me up here,” he said.
Still upset.
I rolled my eyes and walked away from him.
“If you forgive someone,” I told him as we lounged on the couch together, “you can’t keep bringing it up.”
“But then how will you know not to do it again?” he wondered.
“I didn’t mean to do it the first time,” I said. “It was dark. I didn’t see you.”
“You should always be looking for me,” he sniffed.
"How about this,” I offered. “I will always look for you and you refrain from lying in a walkway, at night, in a dark room.”
He thought about it.
“I’ll try not to,” he said, finally.
“Good!”
“But sometimes that’s just where I really want to sleep.”
I sighed. “I guess it’s my job to look out for you.”
“I’m the little guy,” he agreed.
Happy Caturday, Peeps! The truth is, I’m pretty sure Freddie is totally over the incident. He did forgive me very quickly and is not acting in any way afraid that I’ll do it again. It’s me who’s not over it.