Over the course of the day the hairless jane has been away. She came home a darker color and radiating more heat than normal. Examining closely it seems to be dermal damage. If she were fully furred like me this wouldn’t happen.

I saw by the restless tension in his legs that the hairless tom needs exercise. I attempted to engage him in my game of ball by shooting the ball of string directly at his feet but instead he screamed in startlement.

He doesn’t respond this way often. This may merit further investigation.

Once he sits with the lights out, I wait for his attention to wander to a trance-like state to resume then lunge at him from the peripheral darkness. Bingo. He screams. it looks like we have a new game.

whhoooo — can you not tell that I am in no mood or desire to be airlifted? Body language savants they are not as my starfished kicking legs and propellering tail are not a sufficient clue?

mid-lap = good.
mid-air = good for birds

I was settling into a more comfy position when this handy bag I found padded with clothes for my lying pleasure suddenly shifted off the table but don’t worry, it deposited itself but not me on the floor. Now where do I go?

Lapping up

attention
pat pat
bat bat bat
hop, plop
c’mon
you know the drill
uncross your legs
let me up

Nice pics and some not even cats but whatwindow washing must look like from the outside of the glass. I’m so glad I’m not a dog. I may be coached on where to go to the bathroom and when to eat but no one ever tries to put me in a fur coat beyond the one I was born with.

The simian hosts should be home any minute. I’ll have to go sit on their chair and re-hair it before they get back.

I have been auditing the scrambled REM sleep of the simian couple. I watch them cycle through the night, at intervals twitching and moaning. Sometimes the very vocal creatures they are speak in sharp clear tones even as they sleep. Their vocal folds release like the smells they release from their mouths as a cloud of smells that surrounds me from the perch beside them. They are lost in night sweats, the sweetness of fresh glands releasing into the surface I will bundle myself into come morning and they leave and the sun falls just so.

Time to stroll and patrol wider.

Ah, a challenge to succeed at. My colleage has decided to press her boundaries onto my ledge.

I lie in alignment, the simian foreleg over my leg, hip and ribs, so I stretch out showing our solidarity and equality and extend the equivalent parts of myself over his leg and hip. A deep sigh of contentment at him sitting still and calm with me.

Pictures like this of Mattie make me want to be a mother again.

I suppose the closest I can settle for are memories, this head-butting for attention colleague of mine wanting a licking and the dry body length strokes of hands like a tongue grooming 200 strokes until my purr could light up the power grid.

It’s been a quiet night. It should be an hour until the first stirring. I’m a little lonely. Maybe I should go hurry the process up and see if staring intently at his face.

No response. What if I just lean in nose to nearly nose and almost tickle his whiskers with my whiskers minding the flying front limb. Missed me. What if I just walk back and forth across his ankles. That should do the trick of easing him into the day, into my day specifically. You know I wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t so fond…

Those lovely simian creatures are always thinking of my creature comforts. They have left out a bag. They must have noticed how I love bedding down on a new spot, shedding my hairs on a fresh surface. Wonder when they’ll get to laundering my chair?