It was a beautiful day, so I opened all of the windows.
As soon as it was open, The Sam went to “his” window; it is the largest window in our apartment, and it faces the side yard. We usually have his cuddler-bed set up on the cabinet in front of the window, but that day it was in the wash. He sat, front paws on the windowsill, the rest of him on top of the cabinet.
I patted him on the head. “Enjoy the fresh air, my little bubbug-nug (It is a Hungarian word, kind of a cute way of saying “baby”.)”
My cat lifted his face to a breeze, eyes closed, and I swear it looked like he was grinning. Okay. He is happy. I can write now.
I came into the kitchen, turned on the MacBook, and then sat staring at the blinking cursor. It’s just because I haven’t been writing on the computer steadily; I’m a little rusty. It will come to me.
I heard, “meow, meowwwwwww!” It was not The Sam. It was not a cat. As I got up to see what was going on, I heard giggling: Two little-girl giggles and two little-girl meow-meows.
I stood in the kitchen doorway to observe my cat, sitting up on the cabinet, gently pawing at the window screen. Little-girl cooing followed.
I stepped closer. I have to see this.
Two little girls had their faces pressed to the screen. Well, until they saw me. They jumped back a little. I laughed.
“Hi,” I said, and introduced myself. The girls told me they were visiting their grandma (our neighbor across the side yard).
“I like your cat,” the light-haired girl said.
“Ladies, this is The Sam.” I paused. “He doesn’t scratch or bite or anything,” I added. (My cat is a big guy. Sometimes that intimidates people; letting folks know up front that he is a friendly, gentle giant has become automatic for me.)
More giggling. Totally not intimidated.
“Hi, Mister The Sam,” the dark-haired one said. He purred. He likes the sound of her voice.
“His fur is so soft,” Light-haired Girl said. She put a hand to the screen, and a giant paw, spread out so one could see the white tufts between his claws (those bits are even softer than the rest of him!), gently tapped at the screen.
More giggling. “It tickles!”
Dark-haired Girl stepped up and pressed her face to the screen. He head-butted her, purring even louder.
“Can Mister The Sam come to a tea party?” she asked.
Light-haired Girl said, “No! He has to come to my tea party!”
“No. Your tea parties are stupid!”
This back and forth was not going to end anytime soon, and I really wanted to get back to that blinking cursor.
I patted my bubbug-nug’s head. Gave it a little kiss. “Good luck, Mister The Sam,” I said as I walked away.