There are two evening laps in the family. One belongs to Janice, one to me. On winter evenings cats sit on laps, and these two laps also feature flannel quilts.
Jan’s lap belongs first to Purrl. Because he never acknowledged Toby, Purrl remains the superior cat. Purl is Toby’s mystery cat, who goes outside occasionally in the winter, most of the time in the summer, and comes in bringing exquisite smells that almost overpower Toby.
Toby begins most evenings at the bottom of Jan’s lap and her flannel quilt. This is merely to let Purrl know Toby exists and may challenge him for top of the lap some day. But not tonight. The bottom is not very comfortable and Toby leaves, generally sooner than later. He just had a point to make.
Toby moves to the lap he can occupy for the rest of the evening. My lap. It generally also contains knitting, but I accommodate him.
He cannot resist wool yarn. He is very polite if I am attached to the other end of the ball; he feels it move under his paws or through his mouth. Rather like a little kid. Which he is. If I leave knitting unattended overnight or during the day, stand aside. He tears into it, chasing the ball around chair legs, through the living room, down the kitchen, over and under until he runs out of action. I’ve spent a few evenings untangling his work to turn it into my work.
At last he falls asleep. He sleeps hard, like a little kid. I can work my knitting in my lap for the rest of the evening, not held close to my chest.
I occasionally lean over to admire his whiskers. They are magnificent. But I have a high regard for this little charmer.
Are you looking at me? I’m outta here, too. And he moves to the top of the chair. He doesn’t care how lucky he was to be found in a parking lot.