I'm going to try to keep this on the short side, since I've managed to waste the morning and I need to get a few things done. Like lunch. I need to get lunch done for sure.
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As my two fans know, Max is the world's neediest cat. One of the world's neediest cat's favourite things to do is be pampered in bed. By me, at least. He tends to just sleep when he's with Dad (or at least that's what Dad says), but when he comes to visit me he's usually expecting a round of having his belly rubbed. Which is fine if I'm already awake, of course, but when he decides he's in the mood at three in the morning I'm not especially pleased. But I mostly put up with it, because it's the routine.
Or at least it was the routine. It hasn't been for a couple of months now.
You see, I did something almost unforgivable to the cat this summer. I took to sleeping in another room when at Dad's place. And that's not all. I was doing it in a SLEEPING BAG.
I know, how dare I?
The thing is, my apartment can be unbearably hot in the summer (and sometimes in the winter as well, but that's another post altogether). This summer I figured that I may as well take advantage of my father's cool basement to get at least a couple of decent nights' sleep each week. Makes sense, right? Well, what totally screwed up the cat was that I was too lazy to actually make the bed in the downstairs room, so I just hauled out my old sleeping bag and used that instead. It was nice, really. Kind of cocoony.
But.
But the cat hated it. He didn't have his usual access, you understand. It was harder to wake me up. And if I happened to be awake already, he still didn't have any bedclothes to flop around on while getting into belly-rubbing position. He tried once or twice, early on, but by the end of the summer he'd pretty much given up on me. He'd come and visit when I first went to bed, but once he'd realise it was the sleeping bag yet again, he'd just go away.
Last night was different though. Things have cooled off enough that I made up my own bed upstairs and slept in that. I was curious about how Max would react to the change of venue, naturally.
He was ecstatic.
He was on the bed before I was in it. He purred twice as loud as he usually does -- and this is a loud-purring cat to begin with. He was properly fondled. I was sure I'd be pestered all night.
Much to my surprise, he didn't. He had his attention when I went to bed, and then when Dad went to bed he went off with him. And -- and this was the fantastic part -- he didn't come back at three in the morning. Or four. I think it was sometime after five, and he went away when I ignored him. When he came back the second time I was properly awake, so we had our happy cat time then.
I do believe the cat missed me, boys and girls.
I suppose I missed him too.
A bit.
This didn't end up to be short, did it? Ah well, maybe next time.
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