Visiting Pepe

Actually, I'm not visiting Pepe. I'm visiting Dave and Rachel, who claim without authority to be my handsome, balding son and his gorgeous wife.

But no matter how your kids pretend to love you, you can't expect to visit close family without first passing muster with their daughter's cat. I call it observing all the ritualistic forms of Cat-a-quette.

A brief resume` of our adventures over the past three days:

Arrived Friday afternoon.
Ate immense welcoming dinner.
Felt waistband tighten immediately!
Went grocery shopping.
Got up really early Saturday.
Went to huge Art Show on Capitol Square
in Madison. Talked to interesting
artists as they set up displays.
Didn't buy anything, though.
Came home and took a looooong walk
with Dave and Rachel.
Attended large reception at one of Rachel's
boss's beautiful lakeside home.
(Fell in love immediately with Rachel's other gorgeous boss.)
Met a lotta nice people and had fun.
Ate too much again.
Sunday: granddaughter Jocie and
her guy Chad came to visit for the day.
NICE!
Monday morning: woke up early and
wiggled my feet.
Pepe pounced onto my toes!

Pepe's granddaughter-Ally's gorgeous, smokey-grey kitty. He must've sneaked quietly into the bedroom and spent the night up on the bed with me. . .because my cat-hair allergies had kicked in: slightly swollen eyes, some minor difficulty breathing and clearing my throat. Butcha gotta love a kitty. Especially one who sneaks in at night and sleeps with you, and who then tries to getcher toes first thing in the morning.

Here's my reasonably new speculation about kitty-cats: they like a sweet toe, be it unwashed or washed. There's a nice streak in them that admires Mexican Food. Think soft taco! Warm curled toes wrapped-up tightly in wadded sheets and bed-coverings. Apparently they like their taco-toes live and kicking.

Have some fun with a marauding-morning-kitty. Be hospitable enough to sweep at least one foot back and forth beneath your ridges of cotton-comfort. A good, frisky-kitty will dart back-and-forth bravely for hours on end. If he tires too soon, just slow down a moment and let him capture a toe. He'll regather determination, and you've got him going again for another twenty-minutes.

And IF you're persistent. . .if you carry within you even the smallest fragment of subdued dance talent, you will surely inspire splendiferous kitty-koreography. Kitties love dancing lessons. My artistry knows no limits. Once I got Pepe darting and pouncing back and forth, it was no large task to undercut the end of one of his leaps and send him tumbling head-over-paws off the side of the bed.

Never fear: no CATastrophy. Pepe always landed on his feet on soft carpet and dislodged scatter- pillows. A few darting swats per pillow, and he sailed back up onto the bed, capturing one lazy foot in the process. No fear! I flicked him deftly back down again amid the scatter pillows.

I have the graceful movement of a floppy dachshund. But I have Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire in my heart and head. Never mind: Pepe loves my tapping toes.

So I snatched him up into my lap, gave him a fierce loving rub-a-hug, and tossed him lightly across the room into Ally's huge, soft-and-fluffy, bed-side chair. No Net! A real Hoosier One-Hander. He landed with a happy plop, and began immediately washing his face with one fuzzy paw.

Think what you will. . .your personal preferences notwithstanding, one cat beats a veritable pack of hound-dogs. The best dog in the world'll just lie there fulla farts and slobber.

But a kitty-kat'll
eatcher toes and
Love you Up real good!