More Sudoku

Overheard--oh, wait, I said it myself:

"Sudoku! Stop meowing! I put your food back in the fridge because you were through with it. You'd walked away! Okay, I'll get it out again but I'll bet you a dollar you won't even sniff it."

Pause.

"Jerry, I just lost a dollar to a cat."

Introducing Sudoku

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.

Friday morning
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.

Monday morning
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.

Tuesday morning

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. 


Soft pokes. 

I don't respond. 

She uses her words. 

Nothing. 

Then her tongue.

I laugh, roll over, and scrub her cheeks. 

                                                         ---

Jerry's perspective

On the wall over our table at the Black Bear Diner was a painting of a campfire in a forest. Over the flame was a cast-iron skillet holding two eggs, sunny-side up, and the only observer was a bear.

"Poor bear," I told Jerry. "If he tries to eat the eggs in the pan he'll burn his paws.
How will he have breakfast?"

Jerry: "Wait till the hunters come back and eat them instead?"