A friend of mine has a gloriously character-filled cat called Obi.
He’s also gorgeous looking, with the most amazing polished copper eyes. He has the kind of personality that demands the household fit around his needs and desires, not the other way around. (I find him totally charming and yearn for a kitten just like him, even though I’m allergic to cat fur.)
Recently my friend took delivery of a new chair, which was all wrapped in bubble wrap. The chair is to be transported to a new house, so is staying in the bubble-wrap.
My friend made a small hole in the wrapping, just to show the color and texture of the chair to her housemate.
Two hours later, my friend is working and her housemate comes in to say, “I can’t find the cat.” (Obi is a bit of an escapologist.)
So a search ensues. They look everywhere, all through the house, out in the garden and up and down the road.
No cat. Time passes. Their worry grows.
Then they hear a rustling sound. Near the new, bubble-wrapped chair.
Actually in the bubble-wrapped chair, which he has clearly claimed for his own.
Every time I visit this cat, I come away with a renewed desire for a kitten, even though I know it’s not practical and I’ll sneeze my head off. I’ve had several cats in my life and adored each one, but they always come to me accidentally.
But I’ll talk more about my various cats in another post.
In the meantime, enjoy this photo of Obi as a kitten, soaking up the sun, cats being natural heat-seeking devices.