Mattise, The Flying Cat and the Fat Buddha

Our little world at sixes and sevens this morning.  The bed has been dismantled and reassembled in the living room which is also crammed with the other bedroom furniture.  The chap was supposed to come sand and polish the wood floor today but is suffering, along with his wife, from vertigo (isn't that interesting?  So it was something 'going around' and not the scary disease I suspected.  How readily am I willing to scare myself nigh to death with very little evidence?).

The cats are distressed.  No one slept wth us last night even though we didn't have the fire going and the house was cold and bleak.  Either we were being punished by their absence or they felt they had to keep watch in case something else changed in the house.  Matisse is kneeling near the keyboard.  He keeps climbing on and off my lap and although I love him it is quite distracting so I have pushed the chair well under the desk so he can't climb on anymore.  Reminds me of Garrison Keilor's song about the cat that wants in, no, he wants out, no, he MUST come back in, no wait!  I HAVE to go out RIGHT NOW!  That's Matisse.  On my lap, off my lap, on, off, on, off and then really off.  I think it hurts his feeling though.  He is the most uncertain cat I've ever met.  Natalia's boldness and self assurance is refreshing.  She looks me straight in the eye and holds my stare.  She is not trying to intimidate nor is she intimidated.  She is comfortable with us and with herself.  Matisse, in comparison, is Woody Allen in fur.   Perhaps that's not quite a fair comparison but his lack of self confidence is staggering.  He is, after nine years with us, still unsure of our committment.  If  I've fed him breakfast but go into the living room to put a log in the woodheater or retrieve a pair of shoes, he follows.  I can't go to the loo on my own.  I used to think it was that Siamese characteristic, which supposedly makes them the dogs of the cat world - as if that was a compliment!, to want to be where you are and do what you're doing.  With my previous two Siamese that was true.  But not Matisse.  I think he suspects that if he doesn't keep us under surveillance we'll disappear.

It is sad because, and I suspect I've written of this before, he rarely looks me in the eye.  What cat doesn't naturally outstare any human unless the cat is feral, sick or frightened?  It's almost as if he's afraid to reveal his true self, his true nature.  What dire secrets fester away behind those clear blue eyes?

When he is paid special attention he blooms, as if he didn't think he was deserving.  When all my focus is upon him, when I am petting him firmly and rhythmically and I croon to him how special, beautiful and loved he is, he still doesn't look me in the eye but his tail is up and 'happy' and he rubs himself against me with considerable force (and he is a big solid cat).   Matisse has a habit of greeting me in passing with his tail.  Often I'm in some one legged standing yoga pose and Matisse will pass by on his way to the window seat.  He'll push his tail against my leg as he walks past and it's all I can do not to fall over. 

Finished that pastel drawing I wrote about.  Of course it's not nearly as good as I'd like it to be, nor is it photographed as well as it could be, very grainy and dull.  My signature shows how bad it is. 

Here's a photo of Fat Buddha with Cat that I did a few months ago.  Guess I'll have to learn how to take better pictures.