Lap Dance

January 3, 2014

     The action of bending at the waist and moving my rear towards the couch, bed, or chair is an obvious invitation to sit on my lap, once settled. Grill is constantly following me around, waiting the opportunity to park, knead then sleep on my upper thighs. For quite some time, I feel guilty about the need to get up, collect something or another from the kitchen, needing to go to the bathroom or just tired of feeling trapped by the feline of the house. He chirps like a bird, punches his nose into my upper arm, seemingly content to take up my energy, time and folded-at-the-hip space. Reminds me of the sensations when Taelor was an infant, startled into annoyance by another demanding being. I have a load of tolerance, in comparison, yet continue to battle the charge of irritation after a time.

Anxious for a walk, despite the frigid temps, Tyrus paces around the house, keeping an eye on me and any obvious moves to collect my clunky boots and jacket from the side leather chair.  Little does he know, my plans for the day, do not include taking him along for the ride. As of late, he is limping badly after jumping in and out of the vehicle more than a few times on any given day. Typically, he would come along and play with his friends while I work at each house. Today, however, it is too cold and I fear for the next few torrid days that may very well keep us sequestered in the chilly duplex. Cayenne pepper, sprinkled into gloves and boots, I’ve been told, keep the chill at bay. However, I fear for the reaction of the pets, as I cuddle and fondle them, inevitably spreading the hot dust to their eyes and nostrils. I see nothing but a horrendous outcome, while staving off the cold to my fingertips and toes. Obviously, the construction crew needs to adhere to the safety of keeping their digits but I must refrain from their home remedy.