“Freddie, are you hungry?” I asked the cat sleeping deeply on my lap.
He sat up, jumped off my lap, and ran into the kitchen.
“I guess that’s a ‘yes,’” I laughed, getting up to follow him.
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.
“Would you like some food?” I asked, selecting a packet of chunky food from the box where we kept them.
“You know I would,” he said.
I shook the bag in one hand and picked up one of his wet food plates with the other. “Do you want some of this?”
“I would,” he said, pushing his body weight against the backs of my calves.
I set the plate down on the counter and grabbed it, trying not to fall over from the force of the pressure he was putting on my legs.
“I’m going to give you some,” I explained, opening the packet. “Just be a little patient.”
“Hungry,” he chirped.
I dumped the food onto the plate, careful to breathe out of my mouth so I couldn’t smell it. “You really want this?” I asked.
“Give!”
I walked to his food mat, careful not to step on him as he ran ahead of me. I carefully placed the plate on the mat for him, ran my hand down the fur of his back, and said, “there’s the food!”
He fell on it.
Some time later I looked down and saw him sitting next to my feet, carefully cleaning his face with one paw. “Was that good food?” I asked.
His eyes flicked up to mine, then back down, focused on his bath.
“Did you like that food? Huh? Was it good?”
He lowered his paw with a sigh. “Yes, it was good.”
“Did you like it?”
“I liked it.”
We stared at each other.
“Can I go back to my grooming now?” he asked, exasperated.
“Of course.”
Freddie settled on my lap, lying on the raised foot rest between my legs.
“Are you very sleepy?” I asked.
His ears went back for a second and his tail gave a single thump.
“Do you want to sleep?”
He sighed. “Yes, I would like to sleep,” he said. He rested his head on my ankle.
“Aww,” I crooned. “Is this boy so very sleepy?”
“Human,” he huffed, annoyed. “If you stop talking to me I can sleep.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess you’re pretty sleepy.”
“Very.”
“But how sleepy are you?”
I looked at my watch and groaned. “I can’t keep staying up this late for no reason,” I told the sleeping cat on my lap. I regarded him, knowing I was going to have to wake him up. “You want to go to bed with me?” I asked.
He opened one eye and looked at me, then closed it again.
“It’s bedtime. You wanna come upstairs?”
I moved one foot that had fallen partially asleep. Sleep disturbed, Freddie stood, stretched (“Was that such a big stretch?”), and jumped to the floor.
Teeth brushed, face washed, I climbed under the covers just as Freddie jumped onto the bed. “There’s the boy!” I exclaimed, so happy to see him.
He walked toward me as I wiggled around to get comfortable. He curled up against my stomach as soon as I stopped moving. “Do you want to cuddle your human?” I whispered, petting him. “Should we cuddle? And snuggle?”
“Human, go to sleep,” he demanded.
“I will! I just want to know if you want to be snuggle buddies tonight.”
“Don’t say — “
“Do you want to be snuggle buddies tonight?” I asked.
“...yes.”
The next morning, I shut off the alarm and sat up, not quite awake and wishing I had won the lottery so I didn’t have to get up. “Where’s the boy?” I wondered, looking around.
He was sitting at the end of my bed, watching me struggle to come alive.
“There he is!” I cried. “Do you want breakfast?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Does someone want to eat some food?”
He closed his eyes. “You know the answer — “
“Does Freddie want to nom nom on some tasty snacks?”
Freddie jumped off the bed and headed toward the door and presumably the stairs and the kitchen.
“I guess that’s a ‘yes.’”
Happy Caturday, Peeps! I often find myself talking to Freddie exclusively in the form of questions to which I already know the answers. Is he a good boy? Does he want a treat? Did he commit any serious felonies in my absence? He really doesn’t seem to mind as long as the food flows and pettings are plentiful (uh, when he wants them). Do you do that?
