Little Beastie.

Our cat is part siamese. He looks like he should be elegant and a bit snoody, but truth be told he's a little off. Right now he's perched on the back of the couch looking out the window as a ship's captian might look out towards the horizon. He does this sort of thing; tricking me into looking at him as a cat and not the silly beast he is.

In the time it has taken me to describe the previous scene, he has already done several things to make me shake my head at him and feel a tiny bit sorry for his sweet little efforts towards being a real cat. In my head he's like Pinocchio, always wanting to be a real boy. The selfish part of me, the part that likes to laugh at him, is glad that he hasn't been granted his wish by some merciful fairy.

I think he would be insufferable, like many cats are, if he didn't occasionally loose his balance and fall off the couch. I like that he has a nightly routine that he depends on us to keep or else he starts to loose it. He's our little man and whether it be the sexy poses he does by the door to convince us not to leave or that he follows us everywhere in the house (including into the bathroom) so he can simply be where we are, we love him.

I love that just a few minutes ago as he was cleaning himself he tipped over, like an invisible hand came up and shoved him. I love that when I laughed at him, he indignantly looked at me as if I had been the one to push him even though I was sitting across the room. He does stuff like this all the time, yet still tries to convince both Dave and I that he is sophisticated; as he is now, sitting like a gargoyle on our ship's desk. Precious little beastie.