Friday, October 30, 2015

Lois - The GNF Cat

This is Lois.

Lois is the single greatest cat on the planet in my not at all biased opinion.

Lois's personality is basically the same as mine. Perhaps that is why I'm so partial to her. Perhaps that is why I bonded to her.

Lois is the bomb-diggety of catdom. She owns her catness.

Lois knows herself and she's okay with herself. And if you don't like Lois, that's okay. Lois does not care. She knows she doesn't exist to make you like her. Lois exists to be Lois - in all of her glorious catness with a whole lot of cattitude.

Lois looks like a cat. If you were to look up generic pictograms of cats, they would all look like Lois. This isn't to say that Lois is in any way generic. Rather, that Lois simply looks like the quintessential cat.

Lois is not only in form quintessentially a cat; in her catness, she is quintessentially herself.

Lois lives life on her own terms. She is deeply intuitive and has vast storehouses of compassion. She will use either to love well those who have earned a place in her kitty life.

Lois, however, is not your typical lap cat. Lois does not want laps nor does Lois feel a need for laps to exist.

Lois is a proximal cat. She wants to be near her people, but she does not want to touch or be touched by them. In fact, if a human touches Lois too much, she gives them "the paw." That is, Lois will use her front paw, loop it over the wrist of the person touching her, press their hand to the surface on which she sits and then apply gentle pressure to their hand. Once she's confident that she won't be touched again, she'll remove her paw. If a person does touch her again, she immediately gives them the paw again.

Lois has boundaries and she makes no bones about making them known.

If Lois loves a person, she is willing to grace that person with her presence and loud purring. That's what she does. That's how she tells a person, "Okay, you're in. You're one of my people." She sits on the arm of the chair you're in, or she climbs over your head in the middle of the night to sit on the edge of the bed, or she sits on the nightstand and she just stares and purrs at you.

Lois is a cat who never sits in laps. Except for this one time....

....when Lois sat in my lap.

I'm sure it's only because the new chair had very narrow arms, it was a rocker, and she wasn't sure of balancing on it. My sock monkey pajama clad lap seemed like a safer bet. Still, I felt like I'd been blessed by the cat-gods themselves to have received such a gift.

Lois is a cat who hates being picked up and will go spread-eagle-claws-out-murder-in-her-eyes angry if you try to pick her up. And I get it. Lois is just a cat who expects to be respected for her catness. And given her space.

And she lets me pick her up. She doesn't love it, but she tolerates it; she lets me provide full support to her body and she curls up and purrs for a few moments until she's had enough. The moment she begins to squirm, I set her down. And she still purrs at me.

Lois is a cat who isn't terribly concerned about her people (so long as there is food in the dish, clean litter, and fresh water available). Except for this one time....

....when I was having a hard day and Lois loved me. 

Lois is a cat who, rumor has it, used to love cheeseburgers and sour cream. Until her first humans had to give her medicine and human food became a delivery vehicle for those wretched pills. Now Lois is a cat who continues to love Tillamook yellow medium cheddar cheese, goat cheese, sour cream, and even crème brûlée. But she'll only eat it when I offer it to her.

Lois is kind and lovely and honest. She is a gentle and genuine creature. Lois is a cat who is utterly herself and utterly happy to be herself and she gives no fucks whether you like that or not.

I didn't know I had a quintessentially cat-shaped hole in my emotional life until I met Lois. But there she resides; and she will continue to reside there long after she stops staring at me in the middle of the night, long after she stops purring at me, long after she stops giving me the paw, long after she stops going nose-to-nose to me just to make sure I'm okay on those really hard days when I see nothing but loss and pain and death and can only curl up in a ball at the end of the day and cry for a bit before I remember why I do the work I do.

And until Lois stops doing all of those things, I'm going to continue loving Lois. On her terms. Just the way she is.

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