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Father has forsaken me.
Waking me from my afternoon nap is not normally an unforgivable offense, but that is because Father gives the best scratches behind my ears—not too rough, but not too gently either, and for just the right amount of time.
However, I am cruelly denied such pleasures. I am placed on the cold floor outside the bedroom, my complaints ignored as Father heartlessly closes the door in my face. There is a moment when the door opens again, and I dart forward with hope of slipping through the gap, but Father's foot is in the way.
Brother is deposited beside me, still too sleepy to understand the gravity of the offense, but it is not long before he joins me in my song, uselessly trying to fit his paw beneath the gap at the bottom of the door.
Only when the strange noises start in the room do I give up. The door will not open until long after the noises cease, but Brother always takes longer to figure this out than I do. I know there will be compensation for this madness, so I sit on the arm of the couch and wait. There I have a perfect view of the bedroom door. Father and Weirdo will notice me the moment they emerge and understand their mistake when I make sure they know I'm ignoring them.
Brother joins me after an eternity. Rather than sit in view, he circles the couch, tail flicking with displeasure. After a few laps, he flops onto his side, latching onto the side of the couch with his claws. All sides of the couch are already frayed from his antics, so I am not sure Weirdo will notice the difference. Father will, but Father does not care for such frivolous matters. I believe my method of rebellion is much more effective. After all, who would not want the pleasure of my company? I am wonderful.
It took a while for Father to figure this out. There were many times I doted upon him, allowing his lap to serve as my throne—only to have him unseat me. Father did not understand the futility of denying himself the joy of my glorious company. It is the greatest honor to have me in the comfort of his lap or the warmth of his bed. But after much time and effort, he has learned to be more agreeable.
I usually get my way—so long as I remain unimpeded by my greatest nemesis (closed doors).
Weirdo is more compliant than Father, but also comes with idiosyncrasies that I have learned to tolerate. Brother has much more enjoyment with Weirdo's strange style of play, willing to do certain tricks for treats. Brother sometimes even does them in front of Father when Weirdo commands it.
I am above such indignity. My presence alone means I am deserving. Weirdo must at least understand this to some extent—since he'll give me treats too when Brother is not looking. Thus, I have easily forgiven him.
By the time the bedroom door opens, Brother has fallen asleep and I am well on my way. I can't help but perk at the sound, even if I refuse to turn my head. I listen closely and track Weirdo's footsteps as he heads toward the kitchen and opens the cupboard where I know the treats are.
The air smells sweet. Father and Weirdo normally shower after making strange noises in the bedroom, and that means there will be tasty water beaded on the tile walls and floor. I will save it for later.
Father's heavy footsteps approach. The television clicks on as he sits on the opposite side of the couch. I close my eyes, hearing Weirdo appeal to Brother first. There is a crinkle as Weirdo digs into the bag for treats, then crunching as Brother eats.
How easily he forgives and forgets.
Even when Weirdo sits beside me, I ignore him. He coos. I ignore him. A gentle hand runs over my spine. I flick my tail. Those fingers trail up, scratching behind my ear. It feels so nice that I can't help but tilt my head into it.
Only when he stops scratching do I turn my head towards him and vocalize my grievance. Weirdo bares his teeth in that strange way that I have learned he believes is a positive expression. Is it a worthy bid for my forgiveness? The offered treats certainly indicate so. I graciously accept them along with more pets.
I get crumbs on the couch as I eat, but I manage to track down all tasty morsels except for those that disappear in the gaps of the cushions.
Once I finish, I stand and stretch. Weirdo's lap is empty, but I step across it. Father has a pillow clutched in his, but I paw impatiently at his leg until he wisely moves it. I do not think anyone in the world has a more comfortable lap than Father. I feel safe there.
Weirdo slides closer and cuddles up to Father. A tolerable addition, so long as he doesn't commandeer too much attention. Brother eventually joins us, curling up between Weirdo's feet on the floor.
A purr rumbles in my chest as Father lays his hand on my back and idly rubs circles with his thumb. Even with all the grievances and indignities, I could not imagine a better life.