The Pretty-Kitty Box

Day 364: I cannot explain why this is "the Pretty-Kitty Box," but there you have it. It's akin to "your little weaver's box" in the Loom Room, and yes, he knows the difference. Y'see, the thing is, Merry never wants me out of his sight unless he has something importantly cattish to do on his own. Then I'm just furniture, but let me go into the bedroom or bathroom or kitchen without explaining that "I'll be right back, baby!" and he follows me. "Follows" isn't even an adequate word. He stops whatever he's doing, even if it's being half-asleep, and TROTS after me to be sure he doesn't miss any of the action.

A friend sent me a YouTube video about Russian Blues. "Very smart," it claimed, and to that I can most assuredly attest. "Calm companion," it also said. I wrote back to Patty and remarked, "They shoulda been here last night. I was peeling him off the walls." Honestly, I think "calm" comes with maturity, and after all, Merry is still a little babycat at 18 months old and 17 very bouncy pounds. In those rare "calm" moments, snuggled in my arms under the covers or on my lap in the chair, he fits the profile of a textbook Blue, great rumbling purr rattling the rafters. When he goes after his toys in the bathtub (one of his favourite places to bat them around), you'd think there was an 8.5 earthquake going on.