Upon my return, Marmalade ignored me for a whole day. It was bad enough, but not as bad as Mackerel: he took over two days to allow me to get near him. Between the two boys, I was feeling well and truly punished for my affront of having left them for so many weeks. Flower seemed the only one happy enough to see me back, and to allow me to hold her and fuss her as soon I set foot inside the house. Strange, and not the least because out of the three Flo is the decidedly and staunchly standoffish one.
-“Have you forgiven me yet, Marmelade…?”
I seem to have been. It’s very early morning on my second day back home, and I have just been pulled out of my sleep by a bomber engine crouched on my chest. He pats my cheek with his humongous paw, as if to reassert his claim on my time and attention. I smile at him: the damage that paw would make, if he’d set his mind to it.
And the answer comes, loud and clear, purred – as it were – from the top of his lungs. Forgiven? Forgiven…? Woman, forget forgiven, you’re owned you hear, o.w.n.e.d., period, and to prove my point I’m stretching all over you and I won’t even allow you to talk to Man…
From his side of the bed, Man opens a rueful eye and complains feebly:
-“Hey, that’s my cat!”
Yeah, I figured I’d reply from under the cat, go tell him that, why don’t you? But all I ever managed was a muffled mumble, and a mouthful of cat hair.
text & pic © Nina Light CC-BY-NC-ND