Some days, it doesn't matter how much I've gotten through, whether it was work or play, I just want to write about the quadrupeds. Today Harvey reminded me why I chose him out of the entire litter of six kittens, even to the point of changing my mind about taking the insanely beautiful calico who I thought was going to move in with my Pride. Sometimes Harvey can be annoying as hell, getting in front of every single thing a human or two tries to accomplish. He was a pro at that today. He tripped. He knocked crap over. He killed a gift bag. He chased the other cats. He escaped the house twice and played in the snow. And he made demands: for food, for half and half (stretching up and waving a little white paw toward coffee cups), and to have the kitchen faucet drip endlessly so he could play in it. That last is his very favorite game.
I was too stiff to move much today, so after my house showing was canceled by my client, I went out to the hot tub. I had only been there ten or fifteen minutes when Mr S-P came home and within seconds, Harvey had escaped for the second time, and he ran around the yard while we soaked. He had a few ungraceful falls off the side of the tub and off the side of the house (bouncing from a high windowsill, to the hot tub lid, to a scrap piece of lumber, to the tubside table, and then out of sight as he fell to the ground). But he gamely kept playing, kept coming back. That is, until he fell completely into the tub, all the way up to his neck. He was amazingly calm throughout his surprise swim. But then he jumped out and ran through the snow, soaked to the skin. I had to hop out and chase him down with a towel, and Murray didn't want to let me get to him. He blocked me three times while Harvey shivered. Eventually his damp self was captured and sent inside to dry off.
His adventurous day sucked all the energy out of him. I found him absolutely exhausted, sound asleep in my chair when I needed a chance to sit and rest. I scooped him up, and sat down. He stayed asleep, or at least very chilled out, curled up in the crook of my arm. Even when I pulled my arm out, so I could paint my nails, he just laid back further, and stayed asleep. He moved at one point, to sleep like a human baby before they decreed all must sleep on their backs--feet on the arm of my chair, butt in the air, stretched across my knees. I knew he was just recharging his batteries. And sure enough, when everyone came over for the Thursday game, it was as if someone plugged him full of quarters and hit the start button. He was back doing loops, begging for food, and attacking toes underneath the table. I can't imagine what I would have done if he hadn't come along. We didn't know our family lacked a little white-hot spice until he arrived and showed us what we were missing.
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