In the morning, I wake up to her curled up on the pillow behind my head. She immediately notices I’m awake and pushes her head under my hand for attention. If I fall back asleep during the giving of these affections, she will attempt to lick my nose. She learned this unfortunate habit from my husband when she was a kitten. She’d try to wake him for attention by licking his face, but he was able to ignore her. Then she licked his nose, right up in his nostrils, and hey! He woke up! So, she does this trick with both of us now when she thinks it’s time for us to adore her.
When I get up, she grunts at me to show her disappointment. She’ll often shadow me through my morning; she sits in the doorway of the bathroom while I do my morning business there, coming in only to rub against my legs as I sit on the toilet, or she’ll sit regally in the walkway between the kitchen and dining room observing my breakfast preparations from a distance.
She trots excitedly behind me when she sees me heading for the computer. I’ve never quite figured out why she loves to be near the computer, but I think it’s something she has learned from my husband. She sprawls beside my chair, chirping at me periodically to remind me that she’s there. I leaned down to pet her soft fur. Sometimes, she takes this attention willingly. In fact, sometimes she stands up to follow my hand as I remove it to type again. She shoves under my hand for more attention then. Other times, my caress is rejected with a swat or a bite or maybe a clawing from her hind legs. I never know how my attentions will be received at this hour.
Once the kids wake up, she usually disappears. She hides in her favorite corner of the computer room or in a hidden corner of my closet. Sometimes she lays on my bed, feeling secure that no little people will bother her there, since we don’t encourage the kids to play in our room. She’ll stay hidden for the better part of the day. I will often search her out, just to steal some cuddles from her. These stolen moments are sometimes greeted with enthusiasm and other times with disgruntlement. Guess it depends on how deeply she is asleep when I bug her.
When evening rolls around, she comes out to greet my husband. I’m persona non gratis then. She likes to make him think she cares only for him. She commandeers his computer desk, sprawled beside his keyboard and accepting his loving scratches on her head. If he takes the time to type, she demands his attention by laying her head on his hand making it difficult to type and impossible to manipulate the mouse. All attention at that time must be on her.
If dinner smells good to her, she may hover near the table or in the kitchen, hoping for handouts, but this is rare. She isn’t a slave to food, unless it happens to be luncheon meat. She’ll do just about anything to get that. She lets her kitty sister, Stjarna do the begging for their dinner. Stjarna, being the glutton for cat food, is happy to oblige.
Once the kids are in bed, we once more find Terpie laying in the way, tripping us as we walk. If we sit on the couch to chat, we find ourselves objects of scrutiny. She will saunter her way towards the couch, as if to ask for attention, but then she flops by my feet and sprawls on her back and watches me, upside down. If I lean to pet her, she will immediately claw at me, howling her objections. I always tell her not to lay belly up in front of me if she doesn’t want me to give her a belly rub. She never listens.
She’ll continue to follow us around for the rest of the evening. She never seems to want us to pet her then, but she trails in our wake. When we finally make our way to the bedroom for sleep, she is in the bed ahead of us, waiting for us. She insist on being snuggled then, but she’s very particular about it. Only one of us may pet her at a time. Some days she wants Toph’s love, other days mine. She’s a fickle feline. Before long, she’ll settle in for the night, once more curled up beside me. She’ll usually start the night towards my feet and at some point in the middle she moves to the pillow by my head.
