Koko came for a visit last week. I’ve been in deliberate denial about how much I’ve missed her. The boys – Oscar and Stuey – are great cuddlemuffins, and I love them dearly. But Koko is exceptional. One of those rare creatures that “gets” you, weaves herself around your heart, sleeps on you and protests when you have the brazen audacity to move ‘n’ stuff. Oscar may spoon me, but sleeping with Koko is sweeter.
But sleeping with Koko is always on her terms. She’ll be peacefully slumbering, half on me and half on the pillow I hug, and Stuey will come to join the pile. She’ll start cleaning him. He’ll start cleaning her back. He looks at her wrong. Or breathes wrong. Or whatever. Then shit. Piss. The fight is ON! I know – women can be so fickle. I’ll wake in the wee small hours to feline smack down. Koko’s wet hisses join in chorus with Stuey’s loud calls that sound like he’s on fire.
She’s back at home with the Swede, but it was awful swell to have her sojourn with me for a spell.