It’s been a rough week, work-wise. There’s a lot going on, and while none of it is bad by any means, it just has meant that everyone is stretched a little thin. Tensions are high, and at least one person, don’t know who that was, ahem, had a total meltdown at work on Wednesday and has felt embarrassed about it ever since.
Coming home to Freddie and Desi has been a relief at the end of several very long days. They are maybe a little less thrilled to see me come through the door.
You know how this works, but as always, a gentle reminder:
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Begin scene: Late afternoon on a hot summer day. Your humble diarist walked through the door, hung her keys on her key-hook, and proceeded into the common areas of the house. She spotted Desi almost immediately.
Desi doesn’t usually hang out with me too much outside my bedroom anymore. I have to give her medicine that she absolutely loathes, so she tends to avoid me in the room where I administer it. She saw me coming, but a bit too late.
“Desi!”
“Oh, no!”
She turned to run, but I was just a little faster and scooped her up.
“Human, no.”
“How’s my Desi? How is she? Is she good? Did she have a good day?” I said all of this, while kissing her head and nuzzling her.
“Human, stop.”
“How’s my baybeeeeeeeeee?”
“That’s not even a word. Stop — “
“I love her! Did you know I love you? Did you know? Huh? Cute baybeeeeeeee?”
Desi gave a long-suffering sigh, but submitted to the head rubs and chin scratches. She’s a sucker for the latter. I sat on the couch, cuddling her to my chest.
“Do you know how cute you are?”
“Yes.”
“Do you? Do you know?”
“Yes. It’s obvious.”
“Should I tell you how cute you are? Hmmmm? Should I?”
Desi paused a moment, then unable to help herself, said, “I could stand to hear it again.”
“You are cuter than...”
She began to purr, but said in an unsatisfied voice, “you can do better than that.”
“Ok. How about...”
“You are way cuter than that!”
“I know.”
“You’re my cute widdle snuggle-wuggums!”
“There’s no dignity in this, Human.”
“Do you want to know more? Widdle monkey want to hear more? Do you want to know how cute you are, my baybee?”
She grudgingly replied, “Yes.”
Freddie ambled over in the middle of this, and sat at my feet. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“Freddie!” Desi shouted. “Run! Save yourself!”
He started to turn, but once again I was faster. I reached down with my free arm and scooped him up. This was way more awkward than it sounds since I already had an armful of cat and he is not a small creature. There was much squawking and complaining, but eventually all three of us were piled together on the couch.
“The least you could do is get out the treats if you are going to insist on mid-day cuddles,” Desi informed me.
“We’ll have treats later,” I replied. “Right now we are talking about how cute you guys are.”
Freddie pressed his head into my side. “How cute are we?”
“Cuter than kittens in non-kitten things!”
“Cuter than baybees snuggling their mama!”
“You know what else? Do you, my tiny baybee snuggle-hounds?”
“What else?” Freddie asked, eagerly.
“You’re cuter than kittens in costumes!”
Desi huffed. “Putting us in costumes is wrong, Human. Don’t even think about it.”
“I wouldn’t,” I told her solemnly. In my head, I was picturing her as a bumble bee.
She glared. “You better not be. You keep saying I don’t use my claws enough. I’ll start with you!”
“That’s not what I say. I tell you that you need to wear them down more so we don’t have keep going to the vet when they get too long.”
“Your face would probably wear them down!”
“That’s mean, Desi,” Freddie told her.
She rubbed her head on me. “I’m not mean,” she explained. “Just don’t get any costumes and it won’t be an issue.”
“Ok,” I told her. “It’s a deal.” I didn’t mention how close we are to Halloween.
She started to wiggle until I let her go. She jumped down and made her way over to her box. “All this cuteness is exhausting,” she said over her shoulder. “You have no idea how much work it is keeping you happy.”
Freddie curled up into my side and started to purr. I wrapped my arm around him in the way that he likes — those, to him, are the only acceptable hugs — and we both sighed, contented. “Am I cuter than an baby tiger?”
“Soooooo much cuter!”
“’cause they’re pretty cute.”
“I know! But you are cuter!”
He closed his eyes. His warmth and his purr combined to relax me, finally. I stroked his fur.
“Who’s cuter,” he asked quietly. “Me or Desi?”
“Uhhhhhhh...”
End Scene.