“I know you’re not asleep,” I said, giving him a gentle poke. “You can’t have fallen this deeply asleep in the two minutes it took me to brush my teeth.”
He wrapped his front paws around his head and pulled himself into a tighter ball.
“That shirt is black!” I said, noting that my black shirt was on top of the clothes pile and directly under his furry body.
He opened one eye and closed it again.
“Move, mister!” I demanded.
From the bathroom, I could hear the shower running, wasting warm water. “You better get off my clothes,” I muttered ominously, snatching my phone and turning my back on him.
Clean and moisturized, I walked back to my bed, wrapped in a fluffy, white towel.
Freddie had not moved.
“I’m going to have to pick out a different shirt, aren’t I?” I asked his sleeping body.
I slipped one hand under him and gave him a small nudge. He stood and stretched, his front legs straight out in front of him and his body moving into a bow. His eyes were closed and there was a contented smile on his face. “That always looks like it feels good,” I told him, a little jealous.
“It does,” he confirmed, lifting the front half of his body so he could stretch the back half. “Good,” he murmured.
He dropped back down on top of my clothes.
“No, sir,” I said, shoving him a little less gently.
He moved this time, shooting me a disgruntled look, but walking to the end of the bed to lie down. “That’s where you should have been the whole time,” I told him, picking up my hairbrush and setting to work grooming myself. “You have this whole bed and you choose to sleep on the clothes I want to wear today.” I shook my head at his silliness.
He yawned, ignoring my outrage completely.
I picked up my shirt and shook it out. It was positively covered in tan fur. I shook my head in his general direction and turned to grab the lint roller I keep on my beside table for just the reason.
Laying the shirt flat on the bed in front of me, I attempted to clean the fur off of it. The sticky paper quickly became covered, but the shirt was still unwearable. I glanced at the clock. “I don’t have time for this,” I said, balling the shirt up and throwing it in my hamper.
The rest of my clothes were fine, the shirt having taken the brunt of his nap. I grabbed a new shirt and dressed quickly, then sat to put my shoes on.
“You know,” I said, not looking at him. “Last weekend I went to the gym and didn’t notice my workout pants were covered in your fur until I was on the stationary bike. Are black clothes more fun to sleep on?”
“Any clothes are fun,” he said. “Or towels. Or sheets. I like when they are clean and also when they are dirty.”
I snorted a laugh and looked over at him. “Or you could just sleep in your bed.”
“I like that too,” he agreed.
I trotted down the stairs, pausing halfway down to let Freddie pass so he didn’t trip me. I followed him into the kitchen where I put my lunch for the day together and he nibbled on his leftovers from breakfast.
“What are your plans for the day?” I asked, pulling a banana free from the bunch and adding it to my bag.
“Probably sleep a little more, then prowl my territory. You’re going hunting?”
“Hunting my paycheck, yes. Maybe I’ll stop at the pet store and pick you up something you’ll be more excited to eat,” I said, eyeing his half full breakfast plate.
“You should do that every day,” he said. With that, he meandered out of the kitchen.
My bagel popped, so I turned to the toaster to finish making my breakfast. I didn’t have time to eat it like a civilized person, but it would be fine in the car. The last step was to fill my water bottle, then it was time to go.
“Be a good boy, Freddie! I love you!” I called into the air, not really sure where he had landed for his nap. This was my customary goodbye to him. I liked to make sure he knew I was leaving for the day so he wouldn’t be surprised to be alone. But this morning I didn’t have time to track him down and pet him while I said it.
I speed walked to the service porch which contained our washer and dryer and the door to the garage, then stopped, gaping at what I saw.
Freddie was curled up on top of a hamper full of dirty clothes that were waiting to be loaded into the wash.
I laughed. There was no other response.
He lifted his head to look at me, then closed his eyes and lowered it again. He shifted his weight, curling up to get more comfortable.
“Ridiculous,” I said affectionately, rubbing the spot between his shoulder blades.
“Cozy,” he murmured, half asleep.
“So it really doesn’t matter if the clothes are dirty or clean?”
He yawned, and settled back down. “When they are dirty they smell like you,” he said. “When they are clean I make them smell like me.”
“Either way they smell like us,” I said, getting it.
He buried his snout in the laundry. “Smells like us,” he agreed.
Happy Caturday, Peeps! Or should I say, happy laundry day?
Comments are closed on this story.