Rituals

The Amazing Bob and I are very informal about dinner. We sit in the living room, he in his big old recliner and me on the couch. We have our bowls of salmon, veggies and brown rice (last night's meal, at any rate) while we talk, read the day's paper and watch the news or an old ep of Star Trek.

Coco always sits on TAB's lap. Why his and not mine? I annoy the crap out of her with my constant fidgeting and jumping up to do this or that ('sitting still' is not one of my talents). Here's the thing though, after having her wee keester parked on TAB for an hour, she gets antsy and possessive. That is, SHE wants the chair all to herself. She’s decidedly clear about this --  her communication skills are exquisitely honed

Our princess stands on the arm of the chair and nudges him/head butts him until he gets up. And he always does. She then settles into the now free, TAB-butt warmed seat without so much as a ‘thank you very much, there’ll be a nice tip in your jar later.’

Nope, this is her right, her due.  Of course.

Why does TAB always get up? I asked. He says that he’s ‘ready to get up anyway.’

*cough* Yeah sure.

In case anyone EVER asks -- I got all my cat doormat-ish traits from TAB. No, seriously!

And then there’s the current custom with our not-so-wild-anymore boy who, as yet, refuses to come inside. Yes, Rocco the Porch King has developed some interesting habits since becoming The Emperor of Affection.

Keep in mind, it’s really bloody cold here in Valhalla right now.  16º Fahrenheit this morning and that’s a relative heat wave -- yesterday morning it was -4º. Ouch.

As I step out onto the veranda with his brekkie, Rocco emerges from his cave with one of those god-I’m-feeling-confident-comfortable-and-mellow stretches. Then, THEN, he begins winding around my legs, faster and faster, pushing his big ol’ scarred head into my knees.

Naturally, I have to sit down so that I can skritch behind his ears and cosset him up good (yes, even when it’s four below). He leans his whole body against me and seems THIS close to climbing into my arms. Swear to Bast!

Mind you, I’ve put his food down. It’s right there but our almost completely ex-feral, our Sultan of Schmooze needs to be loved up somethin’ good first.

Of course, maybe he’s just after my body heat. Could be.