While I’m writing, my precious cat, Jibber-Jabber, insists on draping herself over my shoulder or stretching out across my lap. It doesn’t matter if I’m actively using a pen, she simply rolls and knocks it out of my hand and covers the pad of paper with her furry, white body. Once she’s in place, she reaches her paw out to encourage a quick tummy rub. Not too much or too long, she lovingly bites my arm to let me know when she’s had enough. She purrs to show her satisfaction at achieving ultimate control.
Clearly, she’s the boss of couch time and Sunday mornings in our house which makes her quite happy. It’s hard to get anything done with Jibber-Jabber always lounging about and waiting for her opportunity to snuggle. She left for a minute, likely to get a drink of water. She’s always thirsty these days.
She’s already on her way back so I better write fast.
Jibber-Jabber and I have come a long way from the time she took up residency in our home. I remember walking into our shabby one room apartment after class when an emaciated, greasy white flash streaked past me. It ran at top cheetah speed across the room and dove under the couch.
I screamed, “What is that?”
Huge yellow eyes stared out at me from the safety of the couch.
“That is our new cat, babe. She’s a Siamese. Isn’t she great? The pet store lady said she is practically still a kitten, a little shy but very special,” my life-partner then/husband now responded.
Jibber-Jabber remained under the bed or burrowed into the couch for the next month, coming out only for food and water. I questioned how great she was after discovering she had ear mites, worms, and fleas and a thing for biting feet as they walked past her hiding spots.
After six months, she started to gain weight and confidence and we realized she was not a Siamese cat. She grew into a massive housecat, average in every way aside from her insatiable appetite. After nine years, we knew for certain she was not shy, just riddled with unbearable anxiety. While the pet store lady might have been wrong about the cat’s age and temperament, but she was right about one thing.
My once-little, now old and yellow-toothed Jibber-Jabber is special, really special, so I let her stay on my shoulder or in my lap and write around her.