Reflections - I Blame Ande

Ande

I blame Ande. The largest of our cat brothers, he inspired my start-the-day cat cuddle obsession.

Because I prefer to sleep without three cats playing tag over my head, I close the bedroom door at night. Ande paces outside the door when the box springs groan in the morning. He trots beside me to the porcelain throne, and leans against my legs.

“I’m busy here, Ande.”

He presses his paws on my thighs and stares with Janet-will-melt eyes.

Hands under his belly, I lift him onto my lap.

He sits on one of my legs, stretches across my bent elbow, and purrs. Ridiculous.

I pet his head, smooth his ears, and get on with my business.

Ignoring the plops and trickles under him—not to mention the odors, he rolls to his side and nestles his head on my upper arm. His eyes close and his lips curve in content.

One cat cuddled. Two to go.

Rills, the smallest but feistiest brother, rests at the end of the sofa catty-corner across the hall from the open bathroom door. Water swishing from the bathroom faucet makes his ears twitch. The squelch of soapy hands rubbing makes him stretch. And a towel in my hands makes Rills dash to sanctuary behind the wood stove.

Gilbert, the middle size cat and chief bug-alert mewer, waits in the hall.

His round, yellow eyes plead next.

Reaching down, I scoop him into my arms and kiss his head.

He rubs his face against my ears, climbs onto my shoulders, and wraps himself into a furry scarf around my neck. Throbbing purrs vibrate his torso. Unlike Ande, Gilbert wiggles to signal he’s had enough.

Two cats cuddled. One to go.

Gilbert Waking from a Nap on the Log Cabin Quilt

Rills crouches ten feet away in the hall, watches me set Gilbert on the floor, then dashes into the kitchen and around the table.

I circle in the other direction.

He scampers under chair legs, zig-zags through the great room, and disappears down the spiral stairs.

I brush my teeth, wash my face, and comb my hair.

Rills sits in the hall. He eyes me from combed hair to purple slippers. Ambling toward his food bowl, he checks over his shoulder to make sure I’m following.

I lunge for him.

He scoots under the sofa.

“Okay, Rills. I’ll write in my journal, ‘Cuddled two cats. Rills wouldn’t cooperate.’”

“Noooo!” Spence calls from the kitchen. “Don’t do that to my Rillzie.”

Rills chose Spence for favored person status. I understand his choice. Claws out, Rills scrambles up jeans and shirts for attention. Spence detaches Rills and gives him a big hug.

Not as lenient of this feline behavior, I say, in a teacher voice, “Climbing people is inappropriate behavior.”

Spence also attracts Rills with food. Rills jumps to the counter and inspects every swipe of Spence’s knife through chicken until Spence tosses scraps to the floor.

Scooping up the cat, Spence hands his buddy to me. “Rills is a good boy.”

“Rills is the sharp-claw boy.” I detach his claws, pet the squirmy cat, and put him down.

This routine worked for a couple of weeks until Rills ran from Spence too. In an effort to protect his favored person status, Spence stopped delivering Rills to me.

That left Rills, the entire log house, and me. Morning after morning I would get within a yard of him before he dashed away. “He knows exactly how close I can get without catching him.”

“You haven’t made his day until he gets you to chase him.”

Spence had a point. I had to get creative.

I opened the refrigerator door, slid the meat drawer open, and crumpled the plastic chipped ham package.

Rills ran to my feet and flashed I-want-some eyes.

I grabbed him.

Another day, I opened the front door a crack and peeked outside.

Rills edged over.

I grabbed him.

Tiptoeing, I sneaked up on the man-cat cuddling pair and snatched Rills from Spence’s arms.

“It wasn’t my fault, Rillzie!” Spence shouted. “She tricked both of us.”

Last Sunday morning, Ande found me, Gilbert waited, and distracted by planning the day ahead of scrubbing pulp off walnut shells and quilting potholders, I brushed my teeth and forgot about Rills.

He didn’t forget me.

When I threw the wet dental floss into the kitchen waste basket, Rills crouched by my feet. Ears at ease, he faced me.

I grabbed his middle.

He pretended to stand and run.

I held him against my chest.

Rills nestled and kept his claws tucked.

Three cats cuddled.