I have had my cat Spot for 13 years now. He is my spoiled baby boy. He believes that where I am he is entitled to be. He also believes that it is his prerogative to sit on anything I own if he can’t be near me. So Spot settles in on top of odd things.
He loves making a bed out of any clothing of mine he can find. He manages to find a way to cozy up on purses and briefcases as well. If I leave a stack of papers I am working with out he’ll commandeer those. The same for my books and magazines – everything that is mine is viewed by Spot as in-play for a feline takeover.
After all these years I have come to know Spot’s habits. I can see him from afar looking longingly at a stack of papers near me as I work on my laptop on the couch. I know what his plan is. I tell him, in no uncertain terms, “Forget it Spot…you are not laying on top of that!” Of course, Spot does not feel that me talking necessitates paying attention – he is, after all, a cat. Cats do whatever the heck they want to do. They are not obedient and eager to please like dogs.
There is a new twist to Spot’s incessant need to park himself on all things that are mine – my laptop. The other day when I was typing my blog I got up to do something and came back to see Spot settled in on my open laptop. He had inadvertently typed a bunch of characters in his effort to burrow into the warmth of the keyboard. Luckily he didn’t inadvertently publish his contribution. Had he managed that you would have seen a conversational entry interrupted mid-sentence with a string of gibberish like this: 3tscxhgte6whcnvg-0484728ifkmkh27eqhx ,SMLKKmnbbvdfrtegwqsaxx aawer34126t5pp;./’
Well, having seen such a thing you would have probably assumed that I had a seizure or something and contacted emergency medical personnel. When the emergency medical personnel arrived I’d have to tell them I was just fine – it wasn’t me, it was Spot on my laptop typing those things. Then they’d call for the nice folks with the white jacket with buckles to collect me as I was clearly in need of some intensive mental health interaction. All the while I would be yelling, begging and pleading with the sanitarium attendants who were trying to subdue me to take me to away, “It was the cat – I swear! It wasn’t me! It was the cat!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Of course, Spot would sit there doing normal cat things the whole time – never once would he provide any support for my hysterical claims. But you can bet the minute they closed the door and loaded me into the vehicle with the padded walls Spot would head straight for the warmth of the laptop again.
You may think that the potential for the above chain of events to occur as I have detailed them above are remote, but I believe they are spot on.
Day nine hundred and sixty-two of the new forty – obla di obla da