Rainy Day

My short-haired cat, Little Bit, poses on the ornately carved table beside my leather chair like an ancient black and white spinx. For once he remains silent, gazing at me with love and concern written all over his funny little face. I suspect he's silently begging to go outside to play in the rain but, realizing how quickly his meowing can fray my nerves, has decided to switch into his adoring mode. He'd already been sent to his room twice this morning for yowling and probably isn't willing to risk another moment spent sitting behind a closed door.

Little Bit remains a complete mystery, one I've spent more than four years trying to decipher. At times he appears more intelligent than any feline I've ever owned, in the next, he appears as dumb as one of the raku cat figurins sitting lifeless on a high shelf above the arched window in the solarium. This cat also has the most annoying meow in the world and my quick-draw use of a squirt bottle has yet to deter him from utilizing that insistent noise to get his way. Because of this persistence, this funny-faced little trouble maker spends a lot of time in his room while I spend a lot of my time trying to correct his bad habits.

Tara, on the other hand, is a long-haired black and white jewel. She promply sits to request food, rarely meows, and despite being seven years old remains as playful as a kitten. Tara sleeps beside my pillow each night and is willing to remain resting as long as I stay in bed but not Little Bit...he howls and scratches the door to welcome the first light of each new dawn, continuing to pester me until I drag my sleepy self out of bed and let him out. Each night, I swear I will no longer permit Little Bit to sleep in my bedroom but like a petulant child his howling persists until he's finally invited to enter.

My husband, who is probably the kindest person in the world, has much less patience than I when it comes to dealing with Little Bit. There have been many instances when this annoying little rascal might have become a a greasy smear on the wall or at least coyote bait if I hadn't given in and removed him from danger. To my shame, I've even considered using the cover of darkness to annomously drop him off at the animal shelter and then peeling away in a cloud of dust before second thoughts about abandoning him could make my foot hit the brake peddle but...like other parents of disruptive and disobedient kitties, I'm convinced if I'm patient enough, I can do this! My cat is trainable.

Now, looking at Little Bit gazing back at me so lovingly, I'm ashamed of such disloyal thoughts. I reach out to caress his ears...he jumps down...looks back over his shoulder...meows loudly and then walks away as if to say, "I can't go outside...you can't pet me." Oh well, there's still eight hours remaining before our usual bedtime ritual once again generates such thoughts. Easing out of my chair, I cross to the patio door, bend down and pick up his sixteen-pound body. Hugging him against my chest, I say, "Love you, big guy," knowing that for good or bad...this silly disobedient little fellow has truely captured my heart and whether I'm able to train him to my ways or not, he'll always have a home.

There's nothing better than snuggling close to a cat's furry body on a rainy day, I muse while listening to the rhymatic drumroll of raindrops tapping back and forth across the stone patio. I chuckle, aware that my husband probably disagrees, however, in his absence, at this moment in time, on this rainy day, I listen to the sound of soft purring and acknowledge that my cat and I are perfect companions. Little Bit's annoying meowing is forgotten; his irratating habits forgiven.