He’s an old cat now, sitting on my lap. Sleeping a lot. Warm. Today he woke up Ravinia at 6am caterwalling because his water bowl was empty. Poor thing. I filled it, he drank right there on the counter he doesn’t always jump to anymore (stands there measuring the height before putting his energy into it) and then raced me to the spot we keep the water bowl in his eagerness. I put Ravinia to bed and did my old lady exercises, stretches.
When he was a kitten he and his brother (Crate and Barrel) used to play so cheekily! They’d jump from one papasan chair to another, and we’d change the distances to see how far they could jump, little spry things! They weren’t lap cats, no.
Whenever they’d be dozing though, curled up in a spot so comfy cute, and I’d walk away into the only other room in our apartment then, they’d instantly jump up to follow me. Even if I told them, “Stay where you are, I’ll be right back!” No, they had to be where I was. They were good at curling up though, anywhere.
When the baby (who is now Ravinia) was born, this one, Crate, who had been my baby so long, looked large and kept his distance. His brother Bare was rolly polly plump and ready to be treated as a pillow by the toddler. He died when she was 2, heart attack maybe, curled up in sleep and found by the friends taking care of them while we were gone on Christmas vacation. Then Crate turned into a lap cat.
He waits his time of day when he can sit in my lap: early morning or late at night, while Ravinia is sleeping. Otherwise she’ll push him off (much like big brother Barrel did, come to think of it) or play with him which feels more like torment.
He’s older now: slower, wiser, still warm and soft and comforting and purring as often as ever. He doesn’t notice when I leave a room though: he sleeps that deep.