“Mom. Mom. Mom.” Abner peers out the window of our breakfast nook which looks out to the backyard. He looks at me. He looks back out the window. “Mom. Mom. Mom.” He looks back at me.
I’ve just come into the kitchen, bringing in dishes from the night before that Jason and I had left in the office. My steps echo slightly due to the lack of furniture. We’re just starting out, and this place is bigger than we know what to do with yet.
Lilith is running back up the hall; she’s a tad neurotic, did you know? Uptight, and a stickler for schedules. She’s bossy too. But Abner is still at the window. His chocolate fore-paws resting on the low windowsill. It always amuses me how human-like a cat looks when they stand on their hind legs. From behind, they look like a mini-person. Of course the tail just adds to the amusement.
Abner looks out the window. I watch his head go from one image to another in quick, fluid movements. If he could speak, he’d say, “Mom. Mom. Mom.” in detached staccato.
Outside, a team of workers are efficiently hacking down branches of a tree in our neighbor’s yard. It’s very exciting.
I move to the couch, or rather the love seat. I’m not entirely sure the difference because both have only two cushions on which to sit. I guess the couch is a tad longer. I take up position on our love seat and had I started counting, I wouldn’t have reached seven before Millie climbs on my lap. Can you say “princess”? Apparently I am Millie’s personal lap. It’s the sole reason for my existence. Just ask her.
Lucky for me, I have already wrapped up in my blanket and have access to the iPhone and remote. We like to watch things like People’s Court and Judge Judy purely for the social commentary. It’s how we roll.
Millie adjusts herself, practically crawling up my chest so her paws can burrow into my long, disheveled hair. All my gatos do this. What’s that about?
The closer she gets, the stronger the scent of coffee floats into my nose. Does my cat smell like coffee? Why does she smell like coffee? Sniff. This elicits another nuzzle of her head. We’re being affectionate. And she smells like coffee.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great smell. But Millie sometimes smells of kitty litter and cat food, so I have to wonder. “Millie, why do you smell?” I ask, half expecting an answer as I always do. Yes, I talk to them all and while they don’t ever answer, I swear they know what I’m talking about and WOULD, in fact, answer me if they had the appropriate larynx or fingers to sign with.
My gaze drifts to our coffee hutch, the selling point of the house for me, quickly checking that the pot hasn’t shattered and coffee isn’t seeping through the counter top or rolling down it to the terracotta floor. Nope. The little green light is on, silently letting me know that should I like another cup, the deep brown coffee is warm and ready. It’s as deep brown as it is because we still don’t have a coffee scoop and use a regular spoon, resulting in a strong, robust flavor. And smell.
Maybe my cat doesn’t smell like coffee, but I do. Perhaps we all do. I wonder if, when we leave to go shopping, people can detect the scent. What a horrifying thought, considering that I used to appall the smell. The smell used to make me nauseous. But, no. My cat smells like coffee. I don’t understand it.
Through it all, Ebeneezer is chill. He makes his way down the hall to the office. Before he goes in, he takes a seat. He is just so ready for his close up.