After 2-3 days of constant storms, our yard is soggy beyond belief. This morning’s sunshine has promise, but still it’s cold and the ground is soaked. Nonetheless, my cats want out. Especially my indoor-outdoor princess, Peaches.
She uses my home like a grand hotel, coming and going as she pleases. Her pleasure shifts depending on whether she wants fresh air and relief from boy-drama inside our home, or whether the humidity and too-much-too-soon heat has her wanting air conditioning. I play the doorman, and I suspect she thinks I stand around with nothing else to do but wait on her beck and call. Yes, I am Princess Peaches’ beck and call girl.
Before I went upstairs to begin my day of edits on my novel I spied Peaches by the door, hovering. I opened, she left. Opie, her boyfriend, made to follow. I blocked him. I have enough issues without adding muddy paw prints to my freshly washed floors.
I make coffee and cereal, and answer Buddy’s shout from his bedroom: he needs his litter box cleaned. Yes, he does really call when it needs cleaning. I return to the kitchen and see Peaches by the door. She wants in. I shoo Opie and open. She dances away. She wants Opie to come out. Sorry. I close the door.
I run a few things upstairs in preparation of spending considerable time behind closed door. Already Herman is up there waiting for me. He’s my mews. He also has special dispensation. No one else is allowed inside my office.
I return to the kitchen for coffee and cereal. Nick and Cookie have joined Opie staring at Peaches, staring back at them through the door. She meets my gaze. She shivers. I shoo the boys and open. Nope. She wants them all to come out and play. Sorry. Not gonna happen.
I’m about to go upstairs. I know I shouldn’t look…but I do. She’s staring at me. This time there is something definite about her stare. She noses the corner where the door will open. With a sigh, I shoo the boys and open a crack. She pushes the crack and slithers inside…dragging it out considerably longer than necessary, as if to prove a point.
I’ve been manipulated by a cat every day of my life since my grandfather gave me my first kitten at age five. I’m resigned…and wouldn’t have it any other way.