Monday catblogging

Sorry, just not up for any more serious stuff today. So I’ll put up cat pictures instead.

Gracie was extremely annoying this morning, demanding a ton of attention. I finally realized why she was standing near the sofa and yowling. She’d knocked her tissue paper nest off the sofa, and wanted it back. So I put it back, and she immediately leaped into it and rolled around, purring. Her rolling is enabling me to see that she’s finally letting her stomach fur grow back. Instead of just a big bare pink patch and long fur along the scar line, there’s longer fur all along the bottom third of her belly. I’m beginning to suspect that she needs some kind of kitty version of skin cream for the winter months, because she has completely stopped licking herself bare in spots. Either that, or her neuroses are gone, at least until she gets new ones. This is, remember, the cat of a thousand routines. Her latest one is yowling upstairs until I walk up to the second-floor food dish (it’s been there since she came home from the vet’s and stays there because she needs to eat frequently or the IBD causes her to vomit) and watch her eat. Yes, watch her eat. She purrs loudly and deep in her throat as she chews happily away. She doesn’t even care if I pet her or not. My presence is what is required. And by “required,” I mean “required.” She simply will not stop yowling until I observe her taking a bite or two. Then she stops. It’s become a regular nighttime routine. I don’t mind so much. I actually encourage her to eat before going to bed. It’s just that in the middle of the workday, it’s a pain. Then again, it’s a five-minute break from work, so I guess it all evens out.

Tig, meantime, has happily rediscovered the kitty condo, as I mentioned last week. He barely sleeps in my bed at all these days. And since he’s been back on the condo, I remembered something that I had forgotten: He’s grabby. If I walk by while he’s awake, he puts his paw out to get my attention. It’s his way of saying “Pet me.” The thing is, he never lets me clip his claws, and I don’t even ask the vet to do it any more, because he hates—with an angry passion—having his paws touched. The last time I tried it, the vet wrapped him, had an assistant and me helping him, and Tig got out of the wrap and managed to nail the assistant and me. So his claws stay untrimmed, and when he grabs me, well, let’s just say he gets my attention. And other things.

Of course in this picture, Tig is deeply asleep, in one of his super-cute poses, with his paw over his eyes. No grabbing involved. All together now: Awwwwww.