snuggle Archives - Owl Medicine: Shamanic Healing

Tigger enjoying a few tender moments alone – Photo: L. Weikel

Most Treasured

It’s funny. I keep trying to jump-start this post by declaring what I refuse to write about for a third night in a row. For once, I really wanted to witness victory being snatched from the jaws of all-but-certain defeat. But it was not meant to be. Apparently we really are going to have to live out the nightmare of watching our country’s most treasured and revered foundational concepts crumble before our eyes, mostly because people simply cannot wrap their heads around the fact that this ‘really could happen’ in the United States.

So tonight I’m just going to keep it light.

Cuteness Prevails

Take Tigger, for example. According to the adoption papers we received when he was rescued years ago by my son and his then girlfriend (now wife), he’s starting to get up there in years. In fact, I think he may be 16 years old or so.

Tigger is by far the most patient of all our animals, but especially the most patient of our felines. He was the first to welcome the pups with open paws, and he endures relentless acts of butt-sniffing and puppy-tackles on a daily basis. It’s rare for him to lash out at either pup. Indeed, the only times I’ve ever seen him hiss or retaliate in any form were when they either took him utterly by surprise or, not surprisingly, when they simply refused to knock off their antics after too many tumbles or nips.

As many of my photos attest, the pups tend to be hogs when it comes to nestling in front of the fire. Once they’ve outgrown puppyhood, I’m pretty sure they’ll welcome cuddling with the felines – or perhaps I should say the cats may decide it’s safe to snuggle with them. But in the meantime, they swing from one end of the spectrum (as bundles of effervescent energy) to another (dead-weight, snoring, lights-out immovable lumps) in the blink of an eye. Consequently, the cats are finding languishing fireside to be an indulgence they rarely experience.

And so it was adorable earlier today when I discovered Tigger snatching a few zzzz’s hearthside, sharing the pet pillow with one of the pups’ favorite toys: the Fox. (The pups were asleep in their crate; I forget why.)

“MY Fox” – Photo: L. Weikel

Melts My Heart

It’s moments like these that melt my heart. Tigger, as old as he is, still plays like a frisky kitten – when the mood strikes him. Usually the mood hits when I’m making our bed. He mrrrows and arches his back, hops sideways and tackles my hand when I’m smoothing out the comforter. He’s hilarious. But I also watch him as he observes the mad scrambles of Pacha and Brutus when I throw their toy (the Fox, again, being a favorite) and they race to bring it back to me.

If it weren’t below his dignity, I actually think he’d be tempted to race after the toy himself and triumphantly bring it back to me. Or at the very least, jump on it and fling it a couple of times.

He just jumped up on the couch and mrrrowed to me. “Time for bed, Mommy.”

So now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to forget about the sad state of our country and go snuggle with my Tiggery.

(T+43)

Cletus Holding Court – Photo: L. Weikel

The cold front pushed through as we were finishing up our walk late this afternoon. Or would you consider 5:00 p.m. to be early evening? Either way, as we descended the hill toward home on the last leg of our journey, the wind picked up and shifted dramatically, and the temperature dropped a good 15-20 degrees within moments. It’s plummeted even further since then. Time to batten down the hatches and engage in serious snuggling.

I know; I know. Weather-related posts are inherently boring. But it’s all I can think about. It’s tough to write about anything else when I’m suddenly feeling an overwhelming desire to burrow into a soft furry blanket and read a book.

The puppies are snoring; Tigger and Precious are curled up, perched on the backs of the couch and loveseat, respectively, and obviously immersed in the Dreamtime. Cletus is outside, going out of his way to howl and carry on over his inherent conflict between desiring (and demanding) his FREEDOM and realizing that he doesn’t actually want to spend the evening in the barn (or wherever else it is that he loves to frequent).

He thinks he’s a tomcat – all badass and whatnot – and forgets that he’s Cletus the Pampered (not to mention neutered) Jerk. I’m not about to argue with him. He’s foul.

Brutus and Cletus – Photo: L. Weikel

He’s All That

The way this post has taken a turn toward Cletus reminds me of how I managed to snag a rare photo of him holding court with the pups earlier today. He’s definitely the one who schools them in their naughtiest activities. Sometimes I swear I catch him looking on with an expression of pure evil – I mean joy – especially when we’ve caught the pups engaging in particularly egregious activity.

For all his foul expressions and ways of being, they adore him. Surprisingly, he rarely lashes out at them, even though their enthusiasm can get the better of them fairly often.

It’s especially annoying to me that he’s so forgiving of the pups when he acts like such an unbelievable jerk to me. Every single night he demands to be put out. (This is how I know he loves to fancy himself a cat-about-town.) And every single night he sits under the kitchen chair closest to the door and lunges at me as I go to open it. How he can consider this to be a game is beyond me. He growls and spits. Lunges with claws unsheathed.

And then the next morning he’s my best friend in the whole world. Most of the time, at least. Purring, rubbing his head against my hands, mrrrowing, and demanding to be petted. He’s a psycho.

I know he can (and probably will) shoot me a claw without warning. But the puppies adore him. We all do, in spite of himself. Or is it in spite of ourselves? Either way, I need to go let him in. Even the great cat-about-town wants to hunker down ‘in-house’ tonight.

Wishing you all a warm and cozy weekend.

(T+38)