One of my dearest friends is my cat, Shadow. I inherited Shadow from my mother, who passed away six years ago. Like all cats, he's unique. He's not the lover who is eager to please, nor shy and aloof, as cats are well-known to be, at least among non-cat owners.
He's people. Shadow bitches about the weather, doesn't appreciate unexpected guests, is resentful of his sibling's presence. He likes a good nap, but occasionally delights in a fast romp around the house. He politely tells us when it's time to get up, when it's time to eat, and when it's time to go to bed. I some days think he's channeling my mom and dad.
Come into the bedroom on any afternoon, and he'll crack open an eye from his slumber, give us his patented "murrack" sound (no meow from this fellow) in way of acknowledgement, and go back to sleep. Lay down on the bed, and he'll crawl up on your belly, ask for a good scratching of his ears, and plant himself between your legs to continue his nap. You're left with the dilemma of how to move without disturbing him.
No big demands, No drama. He's just...people. Sometimes the greatest things in life are the most simple. The attentions of an old cat are one of those.
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