My Cat is a Hat

Arnie just cracks me up. I love how excited he gets when I get home from work. I'd forgotten how great pets are for that. Walk in the door after a crappy day at work and the little furface is all over me with purrs and kisses. Ah, the love! But, seriously, Arnie is a comedian.

After the welcome home lovefest he runs around the apartment letting his toys, scratching post, my shoes, the bed and garbage can know just who is the king of this kingdom. He even went back to knock the waste basket over just in case it got the idea he didn't mean business. Then he spends about an hour "attacking" my hand. This basically consists of him leaping on and off the couch, clomping down on my right hand, holding onto it - ever so lightly - with his front paws and mouth. Then he leaps down from the couch and starts all over. Apparently, he wants my hand to know who's boss too. After he is sufficiently sure my hand is subservient he comes up for some lovin'. By this I mean, he starts on my lap, rolling over to get his belly rubbed for a while and then he makes his way up to my chest and shoulders where he flops down for some nuzzling and chin scratching. Today he didn't stop there. He got up on my shoulder and flopped over the top of my head, purring away. His front legs hanging limply over my left ear and his hind legs hanging over my right. His tubby body right over the top of my head. Yes, I had a warm, calico hat on for a short while tonight. I wish I could have taken a picture but I didn't want to disturb him.

He eventually got tired of hanging around up there and hopped down to attack some unseen dust or something.

I have to say that getting this cat was probably one of the best things I've done in a long time. I'd forgotten how great having a pet companion can be. There is something to be said for the constant source of humor he provides. That's second only to the unconditional love he gives me. I used to think those people who made their pets the focal point of their lives a little bit crazy. But I know, that in just the short time Arnie's lived here, I am not his owner. Rather, he is the boss of me...and the waste basket, and the couch, and all of the socks.