“You wanna get some sleep?” I asked my kitty. I was getting ready for bed and he was waiting for me.
He yawned and tucked his paws under his body, going full loaf mode.
I finished dressing for bed and climbed under the covers, negotiating my space and the configuration of the blankets with his loafy body. Eventually, we figured it out. I was lying on my side with the blankets pulled up over my shoulder. Freddie was curled up against my belly.
A gentle reminder of how we do things: 🐱🐶🐦
- Do not troll the diary. If you hate pootie diaries, leave now. No harm, no foul.
- Please do share pics of your fur kids! If you have health/behavior issues with your pets, feel free to bring it to the community.
- Pooties are cats; Woozles are dogs. Birds... are birds! Peeps are people.
- Whatever happens in the outer blog STAYS in the outer blog. If you’re having “issues” with another Kossack, keep it “out there.” This is a place to relax and play; please treat it accordingly.
- There are some pics we never post: snakes, creepy crawlies, any and all photos that depict or encourage human cruelty toward animals. These are considered “out of bounds” and will not be tolerated. If we alert you to it, please remember that we do have phobic peeps who react strongly to them. If you keep posting banned pics...well then...the Tigress will have to take matters in hand. Or, paw.
“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” I said, telling him the same thing I told him every night. “So very lucky to end up with such a sweet kitty.” I lifted my arm out from under the blankets so I could pet him. “How did I get such a good boy?”
“You were very lucky,” he agreed, purring.
“So very lucky,” I whispered, stroking my hand along the curve of his back. “Such a good, sweet boy. And handsome! Oh my gosh, so handsome.”
“I am very handsome,” he said.
I gave his fur one last pet, then moved my arm back under the blankets, shivering a little. It was a very cold night.
“Sweet dreams, Freddie,” I said.
“What makes dreams sweet?” he asked. “I can’t taste sweet so I don’t know.”
“It just means that I hope you have good dreams.” I thought about it. “You do dream, right?”
“I dream,” he confirmed.
“About chasing fish through fields of flowers?”
“Mostly about dodging the clumsy feet of giants.”
I rolled my eyes. “If you weren’t underfoot all the time...” I muttered.
“Cats who walk upright and are gigantic should watch out for cats who are small and walk properly, on all fours.”
“I stepped on you once and it was because you were lying down on the floor right behind me,” I reminded him.
“It was terrible,” he said.
I shook my head, knowing he couldn’t see me in the dark and under the blankets. “Anyway,” I continued. “I dreamt the other night that my car was on tracks like a train but the brakes were squeaking and I was stressed about getting them fixed when the car was on a track and I couldn't get it to the mechanic.”
“I only understood some of that,” he said.
“Tell me what you dreamt about this week,” I demanded, genuinely curious.
He was quiet for a minute while he thought about it. “The other night I dreamt that my bowl was full of kibble, but when I tried to eat it, it clung to the side of the bowl where I couldn’t get it. My whiskers were in the way.”
“You have a rounded bowl,” I reminded him.
“It was a dream,” he said. The duh was heavily implied.
“Sounds like a terrible nightmare,” I said, sympathetic.
“It was!” he agreed. “And when I woke up, my bowl was really empty!”
I winced. “Sorry about that. I do try to keep it full.”
“Do you have good dreams too?” I wondered.
“I once dreamt that my kibble bowl was as big as a house! And it was always full!”
“Are all of your dreams about food?” I asked, laughing.
“Food is very important, human,” he sniffed.
"There are other things to dream about,” I told him.
“Like your car?”
I laughed. “And my work.” I sighed. “I dream about that way too often.”
“Seems silly to even go there,” he said.
“I agree,” I said, wholeheartedly.
“I dreamt once that a bird got inside,” he offered. “And I chased it around the living room.”
“Did you catch it?”
“I don’t remember. Probably. I’m a very good hunter.”
“So you never dreamed about chasing fish through flowers?” I asked, a little disappointed.
“Why would I dream about that?” he asked. “I’ve never seen a field of flowers. And don’t fish live in the mountains?”
“There might be fields of flowers in the mountains,” I said, defensively. “What do you think the goats eat?”
“Fish?”
“Flowers! And everything else, or so I’ve heard.”
“They probably get the freshest fish. Fish that have aged in the freshest of air,” Freddie mused.
“This conversation has gone off the rails,” I murmured.
“Like your car?”
Happy Caturday, Peeps! Duck update: we got an inflatable shark that we floated in the pool. The ducks have ignored it completely. So, back to the drawing board on that.