Why is it so hard to name the cat? He's already wiggled, jumped, batted, chewed and purred his way into our hearts. Little Cat isn't a suitable name at all. There seems to be an acceptance window here that we may be exausting.
If he were grey, I'd name him shadow, for he certainly is attached to me at the feet. Everywhere I go he follows, sometimes charging ahead if he can guess correctly. But he never gets far enough ahead that he can't turn around and bat at my feet and trip me up. I've stepped on him a couple dozen times already but never hard enough to really injure him - until Tuesday. He cried repeatedly and ran to hide under the buffet where he continued to complain for awhile. Eventually he made his way out again as a wiser, more cautious, yet no less clingy kitten.
As stomach problems sent me flying into the bathroom with a hasty push on the door to keep the room to myself, he flew down the hall like a toddler, pressing himself against the door until he knocked it open enough to join me. Like a toddler, "Go away" means nothing. If I sit down for a moment anywhere but the dining table, he's in my lap unless he's in Louis' lap biting and licking and rubbing and purring. Yet somehow shadow seems all wrong for a yellow cat.
It somehow surfaced that foot fungus tends to yellow and clings to the feet as well. But that's a bad name for a cat.
No comments:
Post a Comment