By a thinking, talking cat.

I like to make momentous daily decisions. Because that helps make me feel alive. As if I'm a real decider. I wasn't sure whether I should get up this morning. I was awake. But I told myself to stay in bed a while longer. Because my cat Loverboy was on top of my chest. And he felt sort of good. I sensed that he wanted to be close to me. Maybe because I'm relatively soft. And relatively warm. Makes me a good mattress. Maybe that goes through Loverboy's mind. But I suspect he thinks of me as a big cat. A cool cat that exudes warmth. Also, he may think of me as a meal ticket. He comes running every time I pop open a can of his favorite cat food. I'm used to living with cats. Though now that I spend half of the year with my Italian true love in Sardinia, I leave Loverboy and his mate Chenuska behind. To live without me. But I bring in a house-sitter that feeds and plays with the cats. I wonder if the cats miss me. Or if they even have a conscious thought that I'm gone. When I return, months later, they always greet me with enthusiasm. Loving affection. But maybe they do that to everyone. Especially Loverboy. His name is very appropriate. He's earned it. As a natural born loverboy. I talk to Loverboy. It's as though he's a real person. A human being. Sometimes, we rub foreheads. A symbolic gesture of thought transference. I imagine what's on Loverboy's mind. And I suspect he reads my mind, too. Even from a distance. For instance, just a moment ago I had a thought. Where is Loverboy? I'd like to see him. And sure enough, he shows up. Wandering into my study. Where he glances outdoors through the sliding glass doors. Then he jumps up to my desk. To a soft cushion. Where he's gonna stay. Until I leave. And he'll accompany me. All over the house. Even to the bathroom. I have no privacy. But it's a good feeling. I am genuinely loved. By a thinking, talking cat. --Jim Broede