Some see them everywhere. Myself, I seem to breed them.
Like most Catholics, I have a couple of crucifixes in my home: the oft-celebrated Fortress of Crankitude. I also keep a supply of holy water in a decorative bottle. (Hey, you never know when you might have to repel a vampire, so suspenders and belt, right? I mean, I can’t wear a garlic necklace all the time!) The desk in my bedroom bears these tokens of faith:
But the Fortress is also home to several beasts: three dogs and three cats. One of the cats, our beloved Zoe, is shown below in her posture of “Repose Awaiting Adulation.” (Yes, that is the grip of a Bowie knife she’s rubbing her head against.)
Zoe loves to have her belly scratched. She has certain ways of letting you know. This morning brought a disturbing one.
The crucifix and holy water bottle in the first photo are perched near the back edge of the aforementioned desk. When Zoe entered the bedroom to supervise my sartorial choices for the day, she plopped herself down on my desk and announced her availability for belly homage. Rather than attending to her at once, I made the error of sitting to put on my socks.
Well, that was a degree of lese majeste that Zoe could tolerate, so in a clear statement that her prerogatives would not be trampled without penalty, she started nudging the crucifix and holy water bottle off the back of my desk. (Cats are irrefutable proof that the world is round; if it were flat, they’d have pushed everything off the edge by now.) I was just in time to prevent a sacrilegious mess. Zoe gave me that look and returned to her previous posture to await her overdue belly homage.
Like a fool, I went back to dressing for the day. Zoe would have none of that: she immediately returned to pushing the crucifix and holy water bottle off the desk. Once again, I barely saved the day…and once again, Zoe sprawled to present her belly for its just deserts. This time, I got the message: I didn’t return to mundane matters until she was satisfied with my offering.
This is how they get you, Gentle Reader. Beware! I haven’t yet seen Zoe cash a check from Satan, but she might have direct deposit. She does spend an awful lot of her time cuddled up next to my router. It would explain all the purchases on my credit cards from PetSmart, too. Hmmm…
UPDATE: The C.S.O., who adopted Zoe ands her sister Chloe from the front lawn of the convent where she works, has just informed me that Zoe is not a devil-worshipper, but rather a “Zoe-astrian.” (As for Chloe, research continues.)
Buddy the Cat frequently demands my cooperation when he decides it’s nap time. I get MEOWLLLLing and head butts until I take off my shoes, empty my pockets, and stretch out on the couch. O’l Buddy stretches out on my chest, shoves his nose in the crook of my arm and dozes. There is no greater soporific than a big ol’ cat snoring on your tummy. I try to resist. My eyes get heavy. Just a little snooze…
There goes the afternoon.
What was that thing on the right?
That’s the left wall of my organizer / stationery wardrobe.
I think OneGuy was referring to your antique telephone. Probably you knew and were just messin’ with him.
We have two cats who yowl loudly at a closed bedroom door. In the middle of the night. Repeatedly. They don’t want in, I guess they just want us out, or at least awake.
Eventually, what telephone?