That is obviously an old photo of my furry friend. The trees aren't as green now, the skies are grey and I find myself yearning for baseball season.
It's my favorite of him, since it has those "Thousand words" all over it that photos are supposed to have.
He sits at my feet as I do these posts - almost every time - and I'm never sure whether he sits here because he loves me so much or because eventually I'll open a can of Fancy Feast for him.
Maybe it's a little of both?
It's not like he's my muse or anything, but he does offer that comfort that living alone sometimes lacks. I find myself thinking about the other living creature here besides myself and it's a little odd sometimes. He depends on me more than any human would, for obvious reasons (opposable thumbs being one and lack of a valid drivers' license the other) but it's nice to be able to have a creature here that I know I'll have to feed, clean up after and pay attention to because he pays attention to me.
Cats aren't as aloof as people make them out to be. They are also more friendly than they are given credit for, and I never figured out the whole "cat person/dog person" deal, but it's real. I love dogs too, but condo life makes owning a dog more of a chore and not all that much fun for the dog. I find that if I pay attention to him (or any animal) they return the favor by paying attention to me. Maybe it's the cat's eyes? They aren't round and friendly like ours and a dog's, so maybe the human connection isn't there?
I see my dog-owning neighbors out at all hours and in all weather walking their friend and standing around in the rain and snow cleaning their friend's poop off the common area. Once a week, I bag up the cat's litter and send it to the landfill. He's happy to wander around my 700 square feet and my two, begging for scraps of chicken or waiting for the evening's can of Fancy Feast. When it rains or snows we both stare outside and we're happy we're indoor creatures.
I don't know whether it's a bigger pleasure for me or him, since he doesn't say much. I don't know what he thinks about when he cuddles up and sits with me on the sofa or jumps on the bed at 3:00am. He purrs, and I would too if I could.
I find myself hoping that he knows how happy he makes me, so I'll open a can of his favorite Trout Feast and watch him do his little dance around the bowl. He devours it like people do a Big Mac. It smells, but as we all know, there's no accounting for tastes.
I look at him and tell him, "You're a good boy," and he looks up. I hope he knows.