Bartleby Supreme

I have been assigned my purpose in life. It is to be Footstool-to-the-Cat. The cat assigned it.

When I am not around, she lies on the entrance rug near both the front door and her food and water. But whenever I sit down, every time I sit down, she sits up, decides whether or not I intend to stay put for a while and, if she thinks the answer is yes, jumps up, runs over to me and plops herself down on my feet. Not at my feet, on.

Shoes, socks, bare feet. Makes no difference. If only one foot is available, she'll wrap herself around my ankle. If both are within reach, she'll settle her belly across the one and hug the other with her fore paws nestling her chin on my instep. And there she will stay until I have to move.

She's not a big cat but she nonetheless generates an impressive amount of heat. In the winter this might be quite comfortable but right now, with outside temperatures in the mid-90s and the thermostat set at 80, 45 minutes is about my maximum tolerance.

I do have to admit the purring has a nice subtle massaging effect.

And, as far as Bartleby is concerned, my life now has meaning.