This is a story about Bob. Bob is my parents’ cat.
Bob is a big boy. When he walks across the floor, you hear the thump thump thump of his massive paws, then he announces himself with a hoarse m’Aw worthy of the folksinger he’s named after. He likes to cuddle, but only sometimes. The vibe has to be right and preferably you have to be my dad.
This morning he stood by my bedroom door.
Scratch-scratch-scratch, “m’Aw!”
I open for his majesty.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
His black and white coat vanishes into the darkness of 6:30am. I lay back in bed and try to lure him up with the usually tricks. A bit of ps-ps-ps, softly calling him, scratching my fingers over the blankets. There’s no response. Bob lays under the bed, his tail bashing.
I let him be. It’s 6:33 after all. Snoozing sounds nice.
Thump-thump-thump, scratch-scratch-scratch, “m’Aw!”
I get up with a sigh, and let out his majesty.
A moment pass.
Then:
Scratch-scratch-scratch, “m’Aw!”
With another sigh, I get up and open the door for his majesty.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
He vanishes into the darkness of 6:37am. I lay back in bed and Bob stomps around the room. He jumps up on a chair, but a backpack is already taking up the space there. Disgruntled, he turns to the bed and sizes me up. My heart leaps. Will this be the day? Will Bob grace me a moment of his time?
“m’Aw!”
He wades around my duvet, giving me sour looks as I try to shuffle and make space for him. Because Bob has his ways. Bob knows what he wants. Luckily, my mom will often tell me about Bob and has led me in on his secret morning routine.
So I lay flat on my back and smooth out the duvet over me. Sure enough, Bob steps on to my stomach, making me wish I had a 6-pack and not the flabby mush I pass off as muscles. After a bit of stepping, shuffling, sniffing, he’s finally comfortable. 8 kg (17.6 pound) of cat resting on my chest, purring so it vibrates through my ribs.
I’m honored. And a little bit flattened.
The moment only lasts a few minutes. A few chin-scratches, a little closeness, and he’s done.
With a yawn and a stretch he jumps down, leaving paw-shaped dents on my stomach. He climbs back under the bed where he settles with a sigh and sleeps for the following hour. When he realize I’m not giving up my duvet any time soon, he peeks out, then climbs back up in bed and curls up on my feet.
Here, he starts snoring.
This is where I sit now. 8:55am. Kinda hungry, kinda need to pee, coffee sounds nice, but Bob’s sleeping on my feet, so I’ll stay in bed a little longer.
What a terrible way to start a Saturday <3
And now you know a little bit about Bob.
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