I took Alex to the vet yesterday. I was worried that he was losing weight. We got there, weighed him. He was fine. But it was the ride there and back that was such a joy. Alex, unlike Annie (my other cat), hates the car. Hates it. He paces back and forth as I drive. (If I keep him in his carrier as I drive, he is more terrified. I figure watching a pacing cat is better than listening to his heightened terror.) He meows the entire time - except when he goes guttural, meowing from deep inside. That's when he sounds like a little cougar. At one point yesterday, he crouched atop my headrest and meowed in my ear as I drove.
It's my fault, really. I'm the one who wanted to take him to the vet.
So then I got home and went searching for a pen to write a check. It was not on the table, where I had left it the day before. Why not? Because Annie had stolen it away during the night. This is a favorite game of hers. She wanders the house at night, locates unsuspecting pens lying around, and confiscates them. Usually she carries them into the bedroom and then spits them out - pah! - on the floor next to my bed, as though urging me to get up and start writing (at 3 a.m. in the morning).
It's my fault, really, that I couldn't find my pen. I'm the one who left it on the table.
Though I do have to admit to real responsibility to the pen game. I leave them around on purpose, for her to find and relocate. Why not? It makes her happy. Which makes me smile.