I have two cats. Actually, one is most certainly a cat. The other, I’m not so sure about. I think he may be an alien.

Nobody ever saw his parents. My sister discovered him, bawling under a bush outside her house. She lives on a crossroads in the country, which may make you think, “ah, the sort of place where numbskulls slow down & pitch kittens onto the berm saying ‘you’ll be happy here'” but consider this: from the air, a country crossroads looks like “x — land here.”

He is gray. He has narrow hips, and swaggers. He amuses himself by destroying things — not maliciously, but out of a showy carelessness, as if to say “I’m not from this planet, this vase is meaningless to me.” Swat. Crash.

He is rapturously affectionate. He can’t bear to be parted from me. When I’m home, he follows me around the house. When I return after being out, I see him waiting on the windowsill, as if he’d been listening for my car. Then he jumps down so he’ll be at the door when I come in.

The other day, the basement door got pushed shut so he was down there for quite awhile in the afternoon. Several hours, I suppose–I lose track of time when I’m working. Then that night, when I put down his dish of food, he refused it. I returned to the dish–he followed me–I tapped the dish to make sure he knew the food was there. He still wouldn’t eat. He followed me again when I stepped away, looking up at me.

Then it struck me, he hadn’t had any lap time all day.

So I scooped him up, and cuddled him, and murmered nonsense into his fur.

Set him back down. He went straight to his dish.

The cat would rather love than eat.

I’m mad about him.

[tags]cat friday catblogging[/tags]