Dugan

Dugan

He isn't even my cat.

Ordinarily, he doesn't have much to do with me.
The big silly dog likes to be the center of attention
jumping around and chasing things
knocking things over with her ever-waving tail
and gazing adoringly at us with her soulful amber eyes.
The cat watches for a while, then, bored,
disappears for yet another nap
or sleeps on one of their laps while we watch a movie.

But they are gone for a while
and so is the big silly dog.
The cat has the run of the house, without interference.
And since I am the only other person here
he has fallen in love with me.
He walks across my lap, back and forth, back and forth
insistently nudging my hands with his cool wet nose
so that I have to pet him.
He bites my pen or pencil as I try to write
and walks across the keyboard while I am typing.
He curls up on the book I am reading, and goes to sleep.
If I leave the room, he meows piteously - "Where are you?"
and I answer him, and he finds me
and leaps up on the sofa before I can sit down,
purring happily.
I guess I should be flattered
but he is driving me slightly crazy.

Soon they will come home
bringing the big silly dog
and the cat's life will go back to normal
and he will forget about me.
I suppose I will miss the attention.

But he isn't even my cat.