Cat lap

After a day of smoking out the kitchen while trying to follow a turkey roasting recipe that calls for a well oiled turkey to be cooked at 500 degrees F for 30 minutes before turning down the heat, it's good to sit on the sofa and relax.

But I've had a visitor the whole time. My own personal guardian and breathing blanket, Haywire.



(Shown here owning my husband while he was lying on couch.)

Haywire's a funny guy. If there is only my husband lying on the couch he will settle in on his chest and slowly melt across my husband's body. If I come and sit down, he moves on to me. If my husband then gets up leaving part of the couch open, he will go and lay down on the empty space. So, there appears to be an order of affection/comfy. True melted cheese sandwich type lounging=husband (good). Hugged by a human/reliving kitten days comfort=me (better). Empty space to call his own/curl up with own body heat=couch (best).

And when he's not doing that, he's lying on the office floor doing the "dead entymologist look". Not that the entymologist is dead, mind you, but Haywire lays on his back with all four paws curled up on his body. Much like this:


(Photo taken RIGHT NOW! Digital is a wonderful thing.)

So he looks like an entymologist's specimen. All he's missing is pins and a little identification tag. Catus Resposus Officana.

He's a curious fellow. He's got diabetes, and my husband insists on continuing to share ice cream with the cat. Insulin twice a day to keep those sugar blues at bay.

We know this means he's got only so much longer. And he's already up there as far as cat years go. But I don't get cat lap with the other cats; at least not like I get with Haywire. I'm going to miss that when he goes on to little kitty Valhalla.

In the meantime, I will love him and pet him and call him George. And when he is bad I will squish him and make squishy noises with my mouth.