It’s Monday evening. No, I’m not sitting on the couch with the cat, this was taken back in July. I’m at my desk, just hangin’. Soots just did come in though, and he did his thing where he comes a little close, as if to say he wouldn’t mind terribly if you did want to pick him up and smother him with attention. So I picked him up, and he’s gone all smoochy, which is to say there’s the faintest hint of a purr I can barely feel on my leg, and he keeps looking up at me, and if I bend my head down towards him he gives me a wee lick on the forehead.
Poor Soots. He hates noises, plastic bag rustling, stompy feet, and doesn’t really like it if you go after him for a pat or to pick him up. We got him from the Cats’ Protection League back in December 2006. The women who worked there called him a “little lost soul”. They had to feed him alone in his cage, because he didn’t like having to fight for the food bowls with the other cats. He used to belong to a lady who had a stroke, and then apparently the neighbours looked after him for a while, but I guess that didn’t work out. He doesn’t have many teeth left – when we first got him we took him to the vet and he wound up having six teeth removed – one was so loose it practically fell out in the surgery.
He thinks a lot, and is extremely paranoid, but as soon as you’re in bed, and the lights go out, he hops on top of you and gets in for a close cuddle. Or if you’re horizontal, or even just on the couch watching telly. He loves laps. But only if he comes to you. Pippi (the little black and white one) jumps all over him, and at first I was a bit worried that he’d hate her and go even more anti-social, but they seem to get on just fine now and race up and down the hall after each other.
He’s such a wee sweetheart.