The cats have been sticking tight the past while because the temperatures have been lower than they like (even though I keep reminding them that they, not I, have little fur coats). They come poking around later in the evening when the clock thermostat kicks off for the night. They pretend to be disinterested, even wandering away for a bit after I actually go to bed. They don’t fool me. They just don’t want to hang around while I’m settling in. Sometimes one will perch on my knees while I’m reading, peeping up over my book, sometimes giving me the “how much longer will you be lady?” look.
I scritch the ears or belly of whoever is handy. I laugh at them for leaving their nicely arranged and warmed spots when I arrive. I repeatedly tell them that if they had any brains they would go under the covers where it’s really warm – with or without me. They pay me no mind. They look briefly at the little warm cave I offer them down by my knees. They bolt off as though pursued by something. These three cats have never been under-the-cover sorts. Oh well.
Most nights I get to read a bit in peace before they start jumping back up to claim their space. Last night I read aloud to them a bit and they watched my face with interest, ears and whiskers bristling. Arthurian tales only held them for a moment and they didn’t offer an answer when I asked for the name of Morgaine’s sister. I don’t know if they were holding back there. As far as I know they’re still working on The Lord of the Rings; they haven’t returned my all-inclusive copy yet.
Oh yeah, the heat wave! It was 27F when I left home this morning!
