Thursday, August 26, 2010


My first baby was not a snuggler.

She was affectionate, and a friendly, lovely infant - but would actively struggle if you attempted to hold her close.

She wanted her own space.

My second child was okay about being cuddled and snuggled - but she was pretty much okay about much of anything - the first year of her life, she was passed around between every single member of our English-speaking branch of our church in Dusseldorf.

I'm not too much about getting all cosy and up close - well, except for my grandchildren and my horse Najale - but it's impossible for me to sleep with someone touching me.

Well, I haven't tried going to sleep with Liam Neeson touching me... yet.

But back to the story.

I have a cat who is now going through an extreme case of feline dementia and forgotten he is a cat (i.e. standoffish and aloof) or has some highly contagious disease that he is determined to have me catch.

Because now every night, he demands at least fifteen minutes of close, almost intimate contact.

With his face smashed into my left armpit.

I'm trying to figure out if he's getting high by this oxygen deprivation or attempting a ritualistic form of elegant suicide.

But right now I am still leaning towards some contaminate that will destroy the entire world except for him and a life-time supply of cat food.