Silly Cats!

I came across this when searching for pictures of laughing cats.  It struck home for me as I am normally working at home and my cats provide that crucial break needed to recharge and refocus on my work.

It is a great Blog entry and she is a fantastic writer. Check her blog out here:  Karen Fuller

Here is the post i am talking about.

Cat on a hot tin roof

Tap.

I’m not one of those people who work well when there’s too much noise or distraction, especially when I’m stressed and under a deadline and trying to write.

Tap. Tap.           

I prefer to be at home alone when I write, but since my animals tend to follow me en masse, I’m usually at my computer with a curtain of cat belly draping my screen, my yellow pooch warming my feet, and our demented diminutive dog madly digging his beanbag chair like it’s a basin of dirt.  I’ve never minded their company. They’ve asked nothing of me except to share my room.Until recently.           

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.            

I long for those days.

“No,” I say to the tubby tabby who is repeatedly rapping his freakishly large cat knuckles against the window behind my computer. “It’s dark out. If I open the window, the bugs will come in.”

Tap.            

I suspect it was senseless to try and outstubborn a cat, but I had loads of work to get finished, so that’s what I attempted–until the rapping became more constant and Squirt began switching paws. He seemed to be pacing himself, preparing for the long haul. Three with the left left. Three with the right. Repeat as needed. 

I slid open the window.

Squirt politely allowed several aircraft-sized moths to enter before stepping out onto the roof, where he stretched dramatically, and then immediately turned around so he could jump back inside. 

“I don’t think so,” I said, raising my palm in that traffic-halting gesture known to both man and beast. Squirt casually sniffed the air, then strolled a few steps further out onto the roof and plopped down, then rolled immediately onto his back to make certain I understood that doing so was his plan all along.

It did smell good outside, and there was a nice breeze. I left the window open and began typing again.

Tap. Tap.

I looked up. It was Squirt, tapping again at the glass, only now from the opposite side.

“It’s open. Come in.”

Tap.

Prior to our move to South Charleston in May, two of our three cats were always indoors. The third cat came and went as he pleased, but after we moved, we’ve kept him inside, too. Except for the roof. The roof on the back of our little house slopes gently, with just enough of a pitch for the rain to roll off, but not so much that the angle feels scary. Not long ago, we began allowing our cats to go out onto the roof. It was too high for them (all fraidy cats) to jump off, so they had a perfect, safe place to stretch out in the sun.   Or, in Squirt’s case, to stretch out under the moon.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

If he wanted in, he’d be in. He wanted me to come out.

I reread the few paragraphs I’d managed to write. They were lame, convoluted, and forced.

Tap.

I climbed out the window, took a few steps out onto the roof and sat down. The sky was clear enough to see stars and a sliver of moon. The breeze smelled of damp leaves and freshly cut firewood and a not-too-distant promise of snow. I leaned back, arms folded under my head, and soon felt the warm mush of Squirt’s body as he leaned up against me. We stayed that way a long time.

Long enough for me to decompress. And to appreciate the wisdom of cats. 

Read More of Karen Fuller’s Blog here.

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