no. (roses_rejoice) wrote,

Cats on laps...lattes on caps...

Today is one of those days when I wish more of my friends lived close, so we could Sit Quietly and Drink Coffee. I am not much good at sustained conversation. Fonewise, I can talk to my mom, and I can talk to one other person who is basically part of my family. That's about it. Everybody else, it's a strain. Hmmm who else was I able to talk decently on the fone with. John (before he got all weird). deral (it figures). Ted would of course be on the list except he has always been pretty much in my face 24/7 so we rarely need lengthy 'lectronic discussions. I know there were a bunch of other guys I dated in college who I talked to on the fone for hours, and of course I spent my entire high school existence on the fone. I'm trying to remember when it became such an effort. As usual I keep coming back to when my dad died right in between my dating two extremely, extremely bad communicators in a row, and after that was all finished I got a nice telephone death threat from the person I'd been talking to at least once a week for 9 years and that was the end of Me and the Fone for almost a decade.

I remember in 2000 I once again had a "real" fone convo with someone I liked and had been talking to on AIM for a while. We were both so nervous of talking on the fone that we made an appointment in advance for the call, and each drank during the whole thing.

So I hope no one takes it personally if I don't call up a lot. Like I keep saying I am not so good at fone. But I am way excellent at Sitting Quietly and Drinking Coffee.

* * *

Since Tabbitha died, Old Man B cat has been getting on and off my lap approximately 65 times a day. This is not because Tabby was spending a ton of time on my lap. She didn't like laps or being held, not even by me. She would follow me around, watch me work on stuff, sit by my chair, purr, beg for pets, fight off the other cats, and do all kinds of affectionate things, but laps were just Not On. If I picked her up she would push me away with her little paws. I could always tell she was ill or very scared by the fact that she DIDN'T fight to get off my lap.

B is a different story. His entire existence consists of (a) food, (b) naps, and (c) climbing on my lap. He always liked laps but it didn't used to be so pronounced. For one thing, he was younger and probably busied himself with more cat activities, and we also had another big affectionate neutered tom competing for the lap space. (That was Tux who died a couple years ago.) For another, I lived away from home for a year and also had three separate long-term leg/back injuries during which I could barely sit in a chair, much less have a 15-lb. anything jumping on my lap.

The last couple of years, Babe's Lap Thing when I'm on the computer has gotten really pronounced. Often, Lap Time will be preceded by some MEGA loud yowing, which, given how noise-sensitive I am, is like being jolted out of bed by reveille when I have just woken up, and is thus generally not well received by me. He tends to go about climbing me in stages to make sure I am in the mood for it and am not going to yell or smack. First he climbs a box next to the computer, then he puts a paw on me, and if I say Come on boy he gets the rest of the way up. Once on my lap, he purrs and nudges various of my body parts with his hairy and saliva-ey cat face---he had a dozen rotten teeth removed many years ago and thus drools---and generally carries on like Pepe Le Pew. Sometimes he decides to chin my PC keyboard for a while (thus injecting MASSIVE amounts of cat hair between the keys, which I have to clean out later) or climbs back down on the box the better to nudge at my left arm.

When this happens once, it's cute (assuming I do not have a business suit on). When it happens twice, it's cute. When it happens about 27 times in a single day, it ceases to be adorable, and becomes hot and itchy and the equivalent of a little kid who spends four hours straight tugging his mom's dress and whining, "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy." I end up screaming at the fuzzy bastid. I feel bad later because he just wants Love and Attention (don't we all?) and maybe he is bored and it's not like an old house cat really has a lot of pastimes (as Erma Bombeck wrote about her dog, "He chewed up the last three coloring books we gave him, and he doesn't sing well,") and I always used to want Cats that would Sit on my Lap without being forcibly chained there. Out of a dozen or so cats I have had in my lifetime, only three, including Babe, really did the Lap Thing with me.

Since Tabby died, I don't have the heart to refuse the ol' man anymore. I'm sure I will grow out of this and go back to telling him to get a hobby, especially when it gets hot outside, as 90 degree heat does not discourage him from making like a hairy sweaty blanket on my thighs. But for now, I just let him climb up and down and on and off me and stare at me with his big round wet Mark Ryden love-me-do eyes, until he gets tired of it and goes to take a nap in one of his favorite cardboard boxen.

P.S. This post reminds me of the funny usericon I saw on some community that says, "Livejournal: Because we're all just dying to hear about your cat."
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