I have a lover in my laundry. Oh he plays hard to get, skitters away when I dash in for the loo, a doggy treat, or cleaning equipment . He has even been known to hiss. But the moment I say, 'Hi Harvey' his eyes soften and he moves his body slightly toward me.
I know he wants me.
I go and pat his little head, rub his chest, back and tail. I have even cleaned his ears with a fresh cotton hankie, He pushes into my hand and lets me use two hands to massage him, he eats from my fingertips. He arches his body towards me as my hands move - first his head, and then his bottom, his tail curling through my fingers. He purrs, a wild rumbly purr that trips over itself to let more purrs out.
And when I leave, up to 40 minutes later, his body sags, his eyes say, 'I thought you loved me.'
What happened that this dear little cat who has so much love to give? When did he stop trusting? Why do our love fests take place in the laundry trough? I know, I know, I know that one day he will be on this bed with the rest of the furries, if only I could get him to willingly leave the laundry.
Tonight I sat on the floor with Archer and Harvey, watched my two boys smooch, one purring wildly the other tail wagging madly, both clambering over my legs and pressing against me. They are so comfortable together, Harvey squeezes under Archer, Archer pokes his tongue in Harvey's face and they rub noses continuously. Harvey is learning his name, and this past few days has started to take a few steps towards me as I call him. If I have Archer or Phantom with me he will come right up to us for his scratch and pat fix.
We seem, the three of us. to end each day this way, precious, and a few more steps on the journey.