Sandy Supposes....

The Thirty - Second Cat

         According to DAILYHOLIDAYBLOG.COM today is Hug Your Cat Day. Now I'm all for celebrating diverse occasions, but alas I cannot participate in this special day because I no longer cater to a feline. My servitude ended years ago. No longer does a mere cat permit me to do exactly as it intended.

         I ceased to be at the constant beck and call of Itty Bitty when he died unexpectedly the hectic weekend I began a new job. I'm not insinuating that he disapproved of my absences, but his timing is highly suspect. He did far more than turn his back on me and ignore me for some perceived slight.

         That crazy cat entered my home stuffed into a shirt pocket and his diminutive stature earned him his name. Obviously, 'Cutie' and 'Tiny' did not rhyme with kitty. As he assumed his prominent position in my household it became apparent that he should've been tagged as 'Curiosity' and he seemed to have many of those fabled nine lives that are attributed to such a daredevil beast.

         For reasons only he understood, Itty Bitty decided to become my shadow. Oh, he never deigned to be stealthy, not at all. He loved the sound of his own voice and he spoke to me constantly. I was expected to listen without comment. If I did attempt to replicate his vocalization, Itty Bitty would approach me, plant his paws, cock his head and stare into my eyes. I received the message loud and clear. He did not appreciate my accent.

         Early one morning before the rest of the family members awoke, Itty Bitty followed me into the bathroom. Wishing to better see my reflection in the above-sink mirror, he perched on the seat of the commode. Somehow he lost his balance and or his concentration and he tumbled into the depths of the yawning toilet. He proved that the rumours re a feline's reflexes are not at all exaggerated. Even as his warm dry nether regions struck the ice cold water his paws were scrambling for an emergency exit. He exploded up and out with a great swoosh. Scrabbling on the tile floor he seemed to be out-running the cascade of water connecting him to its source. I chuckled at the frantic body contortions that had him slithering and racing while he both shook his wet feet and wiggled his sodden tail. I grabbed a towel and cornered him in the kitchen where I tousled him dry. Until every last hair had been returned to its rightful spot, he left me unaccompanied.

         This surprise dip did not cease his forays into the bathroom. If I dared to enjoy a soak in the tub with the door closed, Itty Bitty would scratch non-stop and howl his displeasure. He always got his way. I'd swing open the offending door and my cat would leap up onto the edge of the bathtub to keep me company. He relaxed his plume of a tail until it was immersed in the water and then he'd swish it back and forth. When he was ready, he'd leap to the floor and meow an order. As he commanded, I'd douse Itty Bitty with handfuls of water until he removed himself to a nearby spot and groomed himself.

         One day, Itty Bitty leapt into an empty cardboard box and careened down the basement steps. At no time did he attempt to vacate his impromptu ride. He stayed aboard until the box thudded to a stop.

         As I mentioned this loveable critter just had to be next to me. He found me irresistible I suppose. While sitting and viewing television I kept my hands busy with needlepoint and cross-stitching. For convenience sake I pushed needles into the armrest of my sofa and I also kept the various threads and scissors there, too. Itty Bitty insisted upon lounging on this same armrest, needles and all. He permitted me to reach under him to remove the sharp objects, but he never did wait for me to re-locate them before his recline. His spot was his spot.

         Despite his neediness, this cat was never a cuddler, a snuggler, a lap cat. On the rare occasions he sought affection, Itty Bitty asked for it. He'd tap me with a paw to get my attention and he'd emit a certain, distinct meow. At this indisputable signal, I'd gather him up and pet his head. I learned not to have allusions. If I failed to mark the time, a scant thirty-seconds, and release him ,Itty -Bitty would bite the loving hand supporting him. Obviously, he preferred his lovin' to be brief.

         If Itty Bitty were still shadowing me, I would not dream of disturbing his personal space to deliver a hug just because it happened to be Hug Your Cat Day. He had his dignity. He also had his strict regimen of measured doses of affection. I miss that grey tabby.