That’s my cat Brutus Buckeye Sapp-Barrett and this has been his routine since we moved into the new house.
He’ll get me up at 5:30am, eat some of his tasty dry food that smells like a cross between cardboard and chicken livers, do his litterbox biz-nass and then head back upstairs and assume the above position for the next 12 hours or so.
I’m dying to get in his little feline brain and find out exactly what is going through his mind. Is he scared of the new atmosphere and the new sounds that come along with it? Is he being grumpy? Is he sick? Is he just plain tired and in need of an uninterrupted hotel-darkness kind of sleep? Hell, can he even breathe?
Every now and then, I check on him. I’ll lift the comforter just to make sure he’s doing ok. I’ll kiss his little nose to let him know that I care. I’ll talk to him through the bedspread and pet his little head above the covers.
It hit me today that, although his newfound pose strikes me as a little disconcerting and a whole lot of humorous, how many times do we just want to crawl under the covers all day? How many times are we scared about the unknown atmospheres we’re surrounded by? How many days do we just want to pull the covers over our own heads and just survive on the bare minimum of food and restroom breaks? How many times are we just plain grumpy and don’t want to talk to or be around others? How many times are we feeling under the weather and just want to “lay low?” For me, it’s more often than I want to admit.
However, there’s nothing more reassuring than a familiar voice in the darkness. There’s nothing more comforting than a kiss on the nose and a quick massage letting me know that everything is going to be alright. There’s nothing more soothing than a few words of affirmation.
For those things, I’m grateful and I know Brutus is too.
I’m just glad I’m not forced to pee in a box for God and everyone else to see.