Carry Me

This old body just doesn't get around as well as it used to, which is all the more reason why I love for Softie to carry me around.

The British One continues to paint the foyer--he is taking forever to undercoat the trim and moldings, but in his defense there is quite a lot of woodwork to prep. I helped him by sitting on the back of the sofa and watching as he climbed up and down the ladder. Then I helped some more by watching The Don handfeeding peanuts to several excitable grey squirrels across the street.

When Softie got home I told her all about my day, and insisted that I be let outside for awhile, since it was a rather gloriously sunny day. She promised that we would go out, but then she went upstairs and I began to fret that she would forget about me! So I did what I had to do, which was to climb the stairs with my stiff little legs, and locate her in the office, talking with the British One. I demanded quite boisterously that she cease her incessant chatter and get down to the business of taking me outdoors.

She's not always as dim as she looks, because she understood my petulant yowls and obliged by carrying me downstairs and through the kitchen to the back garden.

We had an enjoyable time outside, but it was cut short by my insistance on gnawing a bit of grass. What's wrong with a few blades of grass? I need my greens, don't I? She didn't see things my way, however, and scooped me up, chiding that if I was just going to eat grass, I could stay inside. How rude!

But a heaping helping of delicious diced chicken followed my return indoors, so I quickly forgave her for bringing me back inside earlier than I would have liked.

The evening was spent alternating between my humans' laps, and then Softie carried me upstairs to bed.

I do love to be carried.