Monday, May 9, 2016
She's not allowed on the bed at night, although if I'm in it and Jerry isn't, she knows I make an exception.
As Jerry flings aside the covers on one side of me, the cat is marching up the bed to greet me on the other side. She has it all choreographed.
Movement to my right. Covers flipping toward me, the mattress releasing its weight.
I turn away to snuggle deeper into the warmth which remains and open my eyes--into a mirroring pair of eyes fixed on mine.
A soft paw extends tentatively toward me, hoping for my reciprocal paw to work its way from under the flannel sheets and curry her mottled pelt.
When Jerry moves out of bed I don't move. I don't open my eyes. I feel the approaching steps tug the covers, know when they stop. We both wait, the cat and I.
I don't respond.
She uses her words.
Then her tongue.
I laugh, roll over, and scrub her cheeks.