I lay down on the leather sofa. I have some time, so my plan is to do some reading before starting to cook supper.
It doesn’t take long before I hear a little animal motorboat approach. It pulls up close and I feel the furry bump on my exposed hand. It’s Lefty. He would like some attention.
“Oh, good kitty,” I say. It’s true. He is, indeed, a good kitty, excelling at both cuddly-wuddly and predatory skill sets.
He takes this as an invitation. “Purr,” he says, almost matter-of-factly as he jumps up on my lap. He presses his head hard into my hand.
“Oh, what a nice kitty,” I reiterate. “Everybody knows you’re a good kitty.”
He spots my second hand, uselessly holding the iPad, upon which my book is stored. He swings his body sideways and crashes into the hand and iPad alike. I use both hands to flip him upside down and rub his belly. The purr increases – the little motorboat has kicked into high gear.
“You like some attention, don’t you?”
He turns to me, his yellow-gray eyes gaze directly into mine. “Yes,” his eyes say.
“You do, don’t you?” I say. “What a good kitty. My goodness, how much attention do you want?”
His gaze does not waver. He flips his body and moves forward, ramming my chin with his cold, wet nose.
“All of it,” he says with his insistent purr. “All of it.”
The iPad is forgotten in my lap.
This is why it takes me so long to finish books.