Takeover, stage 8: forgiveness
When I emerged after a rather exasperating day, I found this text file on my computer. It seems appropriate to share it with all of you, since it seems you've been privy to today's events as they happened:
It was a wonderful day, wasn't it? Our toes are dirty and our fur is still warm from the sunlight. But we're hungry, and it's dark, and we both very very desperately want cuddles. My oh-so-silly-brother Tenzing is frantic, half-dazed, desperately rubbing up against the couch and love seat in an attempt to simulate scritchies. I want my ears rubbed, and I think the litterbox needs a touch of tending.
I just hope they speak to us after we unlock the closets we stuffed them in. Better yet, no speaking - just bites of Crunchy Cat Food, perhaps a play or two with the Toy-On-A-Stick. We'll sniff the male one's dinner and then, after he goes to bed, we'll pile up on the bed and help the mommycat with her Spanish-language studies.
She tells us all the time that she doesn't think she'd know how to do her studies if Tenzing wasn't asleep on the backs of her legs, and I weren't cuddled up in the crook of her left arm.
(She's right-handed, and she doesn't like it when I lie on her pen.)
I hope that - oh, dear. Here they come. Time to purr and be a pretty kitty again. I hope they aren't TOO mad.
Think of us when you see a sunbeam. Sleep in it if you get a chance.
Edmund (and Tenzing)
Exasperating little brats, aren't they? I'd toss them out of bed tonight, but they'll just wait until I fall asleep and climb back in bed, settling themselves over my legs and feet, purring us all to sleep.
In the end, they are cats, and they obtain forgiveness whether we intend to give it or not.