Love and Laundry

Yes, I've been up for hours. And hours. And have gotten a fair amount done around the house.

I made sure to wash my favorite weekend outfit - jeans, a short-sleeved sweater and my SmartWool socks. When they were done, I brought them upstairs and put them on the bed. Dylan promptly curled up on them.

That is so sweet, I thought. He loves me that much.

I remembered the times when I was a teenager when my mom would throw a freshly-washed and dried blanket at me. On chilly winter days, it was just the best. I pulled that sweet warmth around me and felt very contented.

This morning as I wrestled my clothes away from Dylan, I noticed they were still warm from the dryer. "Booger," I accused. "It's not me you're after. It's the warmth in the clothes." He blinked up at me, guiltless.

Thus another life lesson from the cat:

Never mistake heat for love.

But I Love You, I Love You, I Love You

As I'm trying to eat breakfast and zip through my morning slate of blogs and web sites, Dylan the Favorite Cat is all over me.

He's on me like white on rice. Like a duck on a june bug. A twelve-pound cat manages to be everywhere at once and if I thought about it, it would seem like he's crawling up one side and down the other, circling my shoulders, jumping over my legs, reaching up from the carpet with one paw extended.

Pick me up. Plllleeeeease pick me up. Don't you love me? I love you.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

I try to chase him away with the Instrument of Correction (compressed air in a can). He stands five feet away, looks at me as if bereft, and utters one tiny meow.

I am undone.

In the end, I pick him up, I cuddle him and he immediately sticks his head into my bowl of cream of wheat and finishes it up. Yeah, that's love, all right.

When he's had his share, he flings himself into my lap and purrs. His eyes close and one paw stretches out into the air, the claws extended, then curling up into a fist as the other paw reaches for the air.

In a couple of minutes, he gets up, satisfied that I'm sufficiently trained to do as he bids.

He stretches so hard his ears point backwards. Then he skips down from my lap.

I don't want him to go. "Dylan," I say. "Come back." But I love you, I love you, I love you, I think and watch him saunter away.