This weekend, I had the pleasure of meeting Pockets, this overjoyed cat. No, seriously, the cat was very happy. Apparently, Pockets’ daddy—an adorable hipster with a skateboard—took his best friend with him everywhere. I know this because I asked. “He’s my best bud,” said adorable hipster skateboarder. “We go everywhere together.”
At last, I know what to get McIrish for his birthday! See, Huck, our cat, is something of a loner. He likes me a little bit (if McIrish isn’t home) and will occasionally grace me with his presence by lying on my keyboard. Sometimes, he’ll sit on my lap (if he’s cold, and McIrish isn’t home), but if I pet him, he generally jumps off and gives me a disgusted look. He likes the children (I tell them that, at any rate), and demonstrates this by allowing them to feed him, and occasionally gnawing on their fingers.
But for my husband, this cat is a total slut. I’m serious. Every night, when McIrish sits in his chair, Huck jumps up and—yes—presses his little kitty face against McIrish and breathes in the wonder of it all. He purrs. He gazes deeply into McIrish’s eyes. He will leap from the floor into my husband’s arms. If McIrish is working in the garden (which he usually is), Huck is there too. If McIrish is in the basement, Huck is lying on the hot water heater. If McIrish is in the barn, Huck is sitting on the tractor seat. If McIrish is sitting in his office, the cat is sprawled across his lap.
Am I jealous? Yes! First of all, I would like to be a cat, napping all day, rising only once in a while to be worshipped, fed and petted. Secondly, McIrish didn’t even want Huck! The children and I did an end-run around him and went to the shelter when he was working. If anyone should be worshipped, it’s clearly the kids and me.
But cats are cats. They choose people, not the other way around. So if Huck and McIrish have a love that cannot be denied, I’m just gonna sit back and watch them, hiking off in the woods, best friends forever.