Noah is one of the more interesting cats with whom I’ve lived. He’s young yet, of course, and so much of life remains a game to him. What isn’t a game is something to explore. As soon as a cupboard door opens, he is there peering in. When something drops on the floor, he hurries over to investigate. He likes rearranging things. I doubt that it is to make anything into the way he wants it; it’s simply to see how it will look or feel in a different order.
I have several cat-beds placed about the house. The boy likes to lie in them. They are comfortable and he sometimes even comes close to snoozing in them. He never seems actually to sleep, as he is constantly alert to the slightest sound or action that may lead to some sort of fun. But he has relaxed in the cat-beds, and knows what they are for.
Why then, does Noah like pulling them apart, or flipping them over? Surely the bottom of a cat-bed, rough and cold, can’t compare with the proper insides, snuggy and warm. And yet, there he was one day, lying on the bottom of a cat-bed, even though he was on top of it.
I’m not certain if he thought he had discovered a new dimension, or was pretending it was a boat on wooden seas, or had simply flipped something over and was resting until he could find something else to disarrange. In any case, he didn’t stay long on the upside down cat-bed. He hurried off to annoy Cammie or knock about curtain cords or wrestle with a Kick-a-roo. This is life with the energetic, enthusiastic boy, life lived in a rush because there is always something that needs to be done right away. After all, slowing down is for middle age.