Taffy

Taffy is a special cat. She has one particular habit which amuses me no end. I’ll be in bed reading, she’ll be hanging out next to me as she likes to do, and then comes the paw–tap-tap on my collarbone. I look at her; she looks at me; I go back to my book and…tap-tap. I look at her: What do you want?  She looks at me, says something in Feline, stares as if waiting for a reply. So I run through the checklist: she’s eaten, the water in the waterdish is fresh, the litterbox is clean, Levi is not bothering her, and we’re in bed together–all’s well. I scratch her ears and kiss her on the nose and go back to reading my book.

Tap-tap. I look at her; she looks at me. What we have here is a failure to communicate. Wash, rinse, and repeat. I really wish I could speak Feline.

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