“Oh, no,” I said, shaking my head down at my cat. “It’s not time for this yet. It’s not even hot!”
He stretched (“Gooooood streeetch!”), rolled over, and closed his eyes.
“Freddieeeeeee!” I whined. “Come sit with me and watch GBBO reruns!”
He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, otherwise ignoring me.
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.
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He was sleeping on the couch in the living room. It was where he spent his summers; sleeping away the heat in a room with no humans. Freddie wants nothing to do with us when it is hot.
But it wasn’t hot yet!
I sat next to him, watching as he covered his eyes with one paw. It was really cute, but that wasn't important right then.
Stroking his fur, I bent down to his ear and whispered, “It’s barely eighty degrees. It’s not hot yet.”
"Sleepin’,” he murmured.
I sat up and frowned down at him. “I’m not ready!”
On the television, bakers attempted to temper chocolate in a tent on a very hot day. “Why do they always do chocolate week when it’s so hot?” I asked...no one, because Freddie was in the other room.
I huffed a frustrated breath, the pushed myself out of my seat. If he wasn’t going to come to me willingly, I’d just have to make him. He was sixteen pounds. I can lift that much.
Marching into the living room, I stopped in front of the couch, hands on my hips.
Freddie was curled into such a tight ball he was almost a sphere.
“Darn,” I said, quietly, not wanting to disturb him. “I can't pick you up when you’re like this.” I gave his fur a gentle stroke and tip-toed out of the room.
I peeked around the corner to see if Freddie was still asleep.
His eyes were closed, but the tip of his tail was twitching, so I took that as a good sign that he was waking up. I picked up his seahorse toy and plopped down next to him.
“Hey, Freddie, guess what?”
He growled a little.
“Look! I got your toy!” I shook it in front of his face.
He opened his eyes and watching it, unmoving.
I kept it up, hoping to make him more alert and then coax him into the family room. The furry blanket and a bunch of amateur bakers awaited us.
Freddie made a few half-hearted attempts to grab the moving seahorse, but eventually he lost interest. I gave a few more attempts, drawing the toy over his paws and away from him, but gave up.
“Are you going to come sit on me now?” I asked. “I miss you.”
He stood, stretched, and jumped to the floor.
“Hooray!” I said, standing to follow him.
I waited, impatient, as he drank from his water dish. He kept looking over his shoulder at me, confused as to why I was hovering. Once he was satisfied, he turned from his water and turned toward me.
“Let’s watch some baking!” I said.
He paused, watching me, then walked toward me. As soon as he got in scooping distance from me, he sped up to a trot.
“Go right!” I said, pointing to the family room.
He went left.
“It’s not that hot!” I cried.
I wasn’t pouting.
I was sitting on the couch without a cat, but I was not pouting.
I was pouting a little.
On the television, British bakers struggled with their showstoppers. “Conchas don’t have fillings,” I muttered. “No wonder they had to apologize for this episode.”
Movement to my right caught my attention and I looked over and down. Freddie was sitting on the floor in front of the couch. “Oh! Hi!” I said, eagerly patting the cushion next to me. “Come up!”
Freddie jumped up, then immediately climbed on my lap. He looked around, unsatisfied. I knew what the problem was, but decided to ignore it.
“Why were you sleeping in the other room?” I asked.
He sat, then lifted one paw and gave it a delicate lick. “Sometimes a cat needs alone time,” he explained.
“And now you need human time?”
“Now I need blanket time,” he said.
I shook my head. “It’s too hot for the blanket,” I said.
He frowned. “It’s not that hot,” he said.
Happy Caturday, Peeps! I think I’ve mentioned it a few times before, but Freddie does not want anything to do with us when it’s hot. He stays in the other room all day, only venturing out for snacks. It warmed up a little earlier in the week and he started sleeping in there again. Sigh. Of course, it’s cooled off again and he’s in my lap as I type this.
