[Major Tom, a big grey tabby, is hunkered down behind one of my display boxes in the booth. He’s got one forepaw stretched out in front of himself, and the tip of his tongue is sticking out. My hand is resting on the table in front of him, forefinger tipped slightly up in hopes of a boop.]
Towards the middle of Battlemoor Tom realized that there was room on top of the tables for a tomcat. So, of course, he started spending time on top of the tables.
The ideal spot was right behind a display box, usually, & with part of himself tucked under the bottom shelf. Perfect for petting, sheltered enough he couldn’t be grabbed.
[He’s settled, a bit, and is sniffing one of the shelf uprights, preparatory to giving it a good headrub.]
He marked everything in the vicinity, of course — with his front end; SO glad he stopped spraying when I got him fixed — & left little dirty cat pawprints on the white silk tablecloths.
[He’s turned his head, and is now rubbing his face against the price sign on the display box in front of him. A couple of dirty little pawprints are visible past him, under the table.]
Having claimed everything in sight, including me, it was, apparently, time to settle.
[He’s flopped now, both forepaws out in front of himself. He looks very pleased with his life.]
& then, it was time for a love.
[His head is stuck out, resting on one of my fingers, while the others give him a good chin scritch. One eye is wide open, the other is squinched halfway shut; his whiskers are perked forwards while his ears stick out at various angles. He is extremely happy.]
Then there were customers, which is how this goes.
