When you come for breakfast it is more a treat for me than for you.
I love it when you greet me as I stumble to the kitchen, looking in from one corner of my massive sliding glass doors. The doors are thick glass and the slide is slow and heavy, lumbering like a freight train along it's aluminum track.
The cats, lined without you like porcelain felines on the step before the door, must sometimes wait until the coffee is brewed. But you, Zorro, gain my first attention, for you aren't always there
Your subtle reach into the kitchen with that leathery paw of yours seems to be .
requesting entrance. I know that I have yet to invite in, and I would, except I fear the moment when I'd have to invite you out and wouldn't quite know how to do it. Meanwhile, the cats lack your inhibition and leap over your nose while I tramp out to you, hovering about my legs like a dog.
I'm glad that you don't mind having me sit with you for a while as you eat and I like it when you pat my foot or hand as I extend the breakfast Meow Mix.
See you soon.
Betsy
(Poor Video--Not worth watching)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment