Cat Controls Humans
Have you ever needed to get up from your recliner or sofa but but hated to because of the cat sleeping in your lap?
It happens to me all the time. I’ll sit here even if I’m slightly suffering because I don’t want to disturb the cat.
He doesn’t mind disturbing me. This tomcat wakes us daily with loud yowls — can’t call them meows — if someone hasn’t filled his food bowl and changed his water by 6:30 a.m. My husband is even better trained. He gets up at that awful time; even on weekends. Because, you know, the cat wants his breakfast.
It’s insane. I don’t mind disturbing human or canine members of the household. I regularly run the vacuum and disturb my husband when he’s reading or watching TV. I yell up the stairs and disturb my grandson from whatever he is doing (probably playing a computer game) and I don’t feel badly about it at all. I holler at the dog routinely to shoo him out of my place on the sofa; but I have seldom yelled at my cat, Mister Tom.
So here I sit. I want to go refill my tea glass. But the cat looks so precious and comfortable in my lap. He just got settled into position, and now I need to move him.
Im ashamed to admit that I’ll sit right here and be thirsty a little longer because I don’t want to disturb the cat. I don’t know how the fur ball controls me; but he does.
He adopted us at a campground
We were in our motorhome, parked in a campground when I first saw my then-half-grown cat. I just called him Tom, because we thought he might belong to someone and already have a real name. Our first thought was that someone had lost him, because we once lost a beloved cat who accidentally got out while we were at a campground in Florida. We stayed extra days to search for him but our efforts proved futile.
I was sitting outside and he was at the edge of the light from our RV. At first, I thought he was just a regular cat. Then I saw he was so weak he walked with difficulty. I went and got some cat food — we have another cat and she’s a different story — and offered it to him to lure him closer. Cautiously and heartbreakingly unsteady on his feet, he came to me. He was just skin and bones covered in fur.
At first he couldn’t swallow food. He would try and then his starving body rejected it and he’d gag. We gave him softer food; gravy from the canned food. And he did better. He’d still eat a little, stop, and lay down and after a bit he’d eat more. Then he’d walk off toward the woods.
After a few days he started hanging out on top of the RVs passenger tire. He was hidden there and he seemed to think the top of that big ole tire was his new home. Whenever we came outside he’d get off his tire to eat. Before long he was giving me the best kitty love. He has a way of gently patting my face with his big white, pink-toed paws. I’ve never had any other cat who does that. He also gives “kisses” on my nose when asked. I think his previous owners must have taught him that.
The day came to leave that campsite and my husband said, “what are you going to do about Tom-Tom (his other name)?
I asked what he thought I would do? I don’t know why he even asked. We both knew we had another cat.
He grinned and shrugged and that was that. Well, except we wondered if our shrewish she-cat would rip him to shreds? Amazingly she didn’t.
We put him into the RV and a few warning hisses ensued, but he showed respect and kept his distance; and eventually they became friends.
The most important thing about Tom is he’s my empath and my muse. A few days ago I got very upset about a situation in my family and started to cry. I mean big, sobbing by, ugly crying. Here came Mister Tom from wherever he’d been; straight into my lap to pat my tear-streaked cheeks with his soft paws. He settled more on my chest than my lap, almost around my neck, and continued to head bump and cuddle me. His soft fur and loving ministrations somehow helped. He managed to calm me as well as any human could have.
There’s actually nothing more calming than a cat anyway. They embody serenity. Especially they are curled warm and trusting in one’s lap.
So here I sit. Under the cat. Now, in addition to me being thirsty, my legs are aching to move.
I know in my mind (well, the left side of it, anyway) it’s ridiculous that a big ole predatory primate like me will sit here and suffer rather than move the cat. I am so well-trained.
Don’t shake your heads and tsk tsk me! I know I’m not the only one.
