Life of Riley

This is my furry little "baby," Otis. You've seen him here before. He's been a real joy to have around. He's either calm like this, or else tearing through the house with his tail in a playful S-curve and his hair up on his back.

Otis is a bit neurotic. Which fits, because I probably am, too. Like owner, like pet, right? Anyhow, we have tried everything to get him to drink out of a dish on the floor like a normal cat does. Nothing doing. I bought a special cat water fountain. He did pretty well with it for a short time and then "Blech!" and that was the end of it. He won't touch it. So then we went through weeks of him begging water from the tap in the sink, licking the water off the shower walls after we got out, and (ick) even drinking out of the toilet. I finally got this little blue Pyrex bowl and put it in the sink. If we dribble water in it, he drinks out of it. Otis will wake me up in the morning asking for water in the sink. I know this is what he wants because as soon as my feet are on the floor he makes a beeline for the sink and looks expectantly at me. If you click on the picture above, you will see that the water is dribbling on his head, not even going into the bowl. Yup. That's how he likes it. He goes through the morning with a wet head and doesn't seem to think much about it. It must not penetrate into his little tiny, rodent-like brain that he doesn't need to do that.

This little guy loves to play, even though he looks pretty daft and low energy in this picture. Coming out of the bathroom in the morning, I'll gasp as this grey blur races straight at me, then veers off and dashes into the bedroom and under the bed. If a cat could laugh, he would be howling. When we lived in Washington, Sam used to chase him up and down the stairs in the duplex where we lived. Sam would shout, hoot, and call out, "I'm going to get you!" and laugh maniacally, stomping up the stairs after Otis. It wasn't until we were ready to move that I learned that the tenent on the other side of the duplex thought Sam was chasing me up and down the stairs. "I'm going to get you!"

Indeed.

Otis is a snuggler, especially during cold weather. Here, he is snuggling into my flannel sheeted bed and pillows. Make no mistake: this is his bed. I'm merely allowed to sleep there, if it doesn't crowd him. If I accidentally push or kick him during the night, we hear a little protest: Fhrrrrrh! It's impossible to get him to move over or sleep in a different spot than what he chooses for himself (which is in some non-negotiable place like between my knees or against my stomach). Roll him over and he will lie on his back and look up helplessly and confusedly at you. But he won't get up or move over. Methinks he's a bit spoiled...

A fat, sleepy cat in a patch of sun. He is the picture of contentment. I'm really grateful for this little guy who makes my life so pleasant. What a delight.