Tuesday, January 19, 2016

"He ain't heavy. He's my kitty."

If you keep up with me on Facebook, you are familiar with Luvie. Many people who know him only through social media like him and lot and are not shy to telling me so. Thank you. It's kind of like someone bragging on your children or grand kids. I get that sometimes too, and I suppose I should write a post on them. But this one is about my fat cat, the one who is the face of my physical training, and the one I love to nap with.

We got him several years ago one Sunday morning when we exited church only to hear a desperate cat yelling to the top of his feline lungs. I found him alone in a tree, September 27, 2009, and since our church was over a mile from the nearest house, he looked pretty much like a dump. Immediately upon being pulled out of the branches and onto my shoulder, he began to purr with all the vigor of a diva soprano at the opera. I guessed him to be about twelve weeks old at the time, thin and hungry but not emaciated and neglected.

I asked everyone in our little congregation if they wanted him. They all, one by one, said, "No," so Penny and I put him in the truck and drove home.

"What are we going to call him?" she asked as I started the vehicle and pulled out of the church drive.

"Look at him," I said as he went back and forth between us ramming his head into us and purring so loud he drowned out the gospel music on the radio.
"He's lovie." 
So that's what we named him, Luvie, and everyday since he has lived up to that moniker. 

That little scrawny tuxedo kitty grew into a hulking fifteen pounder who loves to eat and nap and love. He really is lovie not only to us, especially me, but to Jeff the weenie dog and Baby Kitty the other cat. He loves Jeff and grooms him with an affection that is truly touching. And Baby Kitty (I'll write about him later), he treats like a baby although he no longer is. But it is to me to whom he shows the most tenderness.

When I get home at night, from the pool at DSU or from teaching a class, he always greets me. He doesn't walk, he runs to where I am and rubs up against me over and over, his tail quivering in excitement. He then follows me, like a dog, around the house until I settle somewhere and then he settles with me, in my lap, of course. Being the cat man that I am, I remain still while he usually re-positions himself from my lap to my chest. I remain dutifully unmoving because cats don't like people squirming around when they are trying to nap on top of them. I learned that long ago, and I hate to disappoint a cat.
Blogging and relaxing with Luvie.

Besides the affection and the beauty, I suppose one thing I like so much about cats is how they relax me. He, like all the cats I have loved, is a terrific napper and when he jumps up onto the bed with me, where I usually read and blog, it's not too long before we both are asleep or at least I can unwind, de-stress.

I sometimes wonder if he remembers that day I pulled him from the tree and gave him a home. I think he does, and consequently he has shown me his love and gratitude everyday of his life since. Although he focuses most of his attention on me, occasionally he climbs up on the couch where Penny naps and watches TV and spends time with her. 

"He hurts when he walks on me," she told me recently. "He's heavy."

"He ain't heavy," I answered. "He's my kitty."