I was visiting my son and his family this past weekend. Out of the blue their cat Mika, who spends most of her days hiding from their dog, decided I was her best friend forever. Each time I sat down (whenever the dog wasn't nearby anyway) she would rush from her hiding spot and leap onto my lap. I mean she would come out in no time flat. I would pet her until she tired of it; even then she would simply settle into my lap and purr. At least until Gaspode, the dog, appeared. Then she was off to burrow somewhere where he couldn't get near her.
Now Luna, my son in law's cat who is living with us along with my daughter and said son in law, has decided that she must be in my lap whenever I deign to sit down. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to type out a blog post with a tabby across your lap? Yes, I'm managing it, but still.
The thing is I'm really not a pet person. I like pets along the lines of jokes about grandchildren: spend a little time with them then send them home (all right, I do like my grandchild a bit better than pets). Why Mika and Luna have decided I'm all that is puzzling. Oh, I try to treat pets well, but why I apparently put out an aura of adoring them escapes me.
I'm sure it will pass. Not all of my admirers adore me for eternity. And I don't know why that is either.