Clarence the cat
August 10, 2008
My roommate has been away with her Young Man, so we’ve been looking after her cat. The cat’s name is Clarence. She’s a girl. (Assumptions were made in early kittenhood that later turned out to be incorrect.)
I am not a cat person, really, but Clarence and I get along fine. I come home and say “What have you been up to, Clarence?” and Clarence, who has been asleep for 16 hours straight, blinks and stretches and then invites me to feed her some treats.
The other thing Clarence does is sidle up to you when you’re writing and suggest that it would be better for everyone if she were sitting on your lap. The problem with this plan is that my lap, it is occupied. BY MY LAPTOP.
Clarence won’t actually try to sit on the keyboard. She’ll just aim for the two inches of lap area left free, and then lean luxuriously across your VERTICAL TORSO. It is pretty uncomfortable. So then I will usually lift her off onto the back of the couch.
At this point, Clarence will casually sit behind me and purr. After a while, a small paw will appear in my peripheral vision. The paw will OH SO CASUALLY come down and prod my boob, to see if maybe it’d be okay for her to hang out there again. And I will move her paw away and then a few minutes later, there it is again. Tap tap. Prod prod.
IT’S LIKE BEING FOURTEEN AND BEING ON A DATE AT THE MOVIES.