Do you know that song? "...I fed that cat by yonder tree. Cat goes fiddle-eye-fee." Today I just want to sing the praises of my kitty. He's huge, floppy, furry, dopey, crazy, noisy, silly, and he loves me.
This week, by whatever sixth sense kitties possess, he has been doing two things my children used to do when they were young. About an hour before I have to wake up (cats tell time, did you know that?), he either climbs into "my nest"--the area created when I lie on my side with my knees bent--OR, he walks along the side of my body, stretches himself out to his full length, and then sleeps that way until it's time for us to get out of bed.
When I would reach the point of exhaustion as a young mother, I would stretch out on the couch next to where my girls were playing, and one of them would invariably climb into my nest, or stretch along my body. This comforted me in a deep-down-in-my-soul way. The fact that George has begun doing this during this particularly trying week has been a real gift.
