| dewy decimal |
2003-07-08 - 6:56 p.m.
I come home from work and lumber up the stairs. My cat, Creetats, has curled into herself, made warm by the day that passes through the bay window. I bury my ear into her and she unfurls a sound that says, �You surprised me but I had a feeling it was you.� I listen to her chest and there is no heartbeat, but a deep, internal motor. A Spanish �r� tumbling and tumbling deep in her motor heart. �rrrrrrrrrruffles have rrrrridges� I sprawl out beside her and stretch my arm around the contour of her tabby cat back. We are great friends. �I got my best friend from the humane society� I spill into her the poison of my day. She yawns, her breath is stinky like a fish market. I make funny noises and laugh at her reaction. I give her tender neck scratches and ear kisses. It�s hard to say how much I love Creetats AKA Baby Kochama McPuttPutt, AKA Bubbies Fatso AKA Bula AKA Nup Choy AKA Fat One. Terms of Endearment, for this one I have so many.