The Busy Lap

I like having a lap-cat. Tungsten, my first cat, was a lap-cat, and many of the cats I’ve adopted and fostered have been lap-cats. I have two and a half now.

The prime time for lap-time is after dinner, when I sit down on the sitting room couch with a cup of tea. First, Brazil wants a turn. Shimmer will let me know while I am still preparing my beverage, coming up to me with a plaintive, very soft cry. He will follow me into the sitting room and flop down on the carpet in front of me. I pick him up and put him on my lap. He spends only about ten minutes there, but he seems to enjoy it, purring and even drooling. But then he decides the time is over and leaves.

Imogen is given the most time, simply because she stays. First, she sits facing me and kneads my stomach, very deliberately (‘slow dough’). This will last about five minutes, after which she subsides against the arm of the couch. I imagine it’s a very comfy position, and she purrs silently while I pet her. Eventually, she will decide I’m a good platform for a cleaning, and she begins to wash herself. 

Moxy, on the other hand, starts with his trademark kneading, making biscuits so insistently that the Mixer at this time become the Bread Mixer. He will do this for quite a while, digging deeply with his claws, even when they are cut. Then, he may fall over and want a chest-rubbing. He will continue to knead, but the air is less susceptible to punctures than is my skin.

When Mox is half on and half off my lap, and showing no sign of leaving, Imo will grow tired of waiting. She and the Mixer don’t mind each other, so Miss Silky will sometimes take her place even though Fat-head hasn’t abandoned his. It’s at this point that the busy lap becomes a crowded lap.

I like having a lap-cat. I like having two lap-cats. At two and a half, however, I begin thinking I need to be wider.