I was in the basement looking for the book My Secret Garden. Someone mentioned it on Facebook, and I can’t remember if I have read it or not. I would be surprised if I don’t have it, but I have so many books not shelved, not in their proper alphabetical spot, that I couldn’t locate it. Yang Cat was talking to me as I started sorting books. This was not a task on my list of things to do for the day, but it’s rather cool in the basement and Yang was talking to me.
She talked to me from behind the television for a bit. She talked to me from the floor in front of the kitchenette as if to tell me that her food dish was empty. I just filled it. She just needed to jump up on the counter and see. Maybe she had done that a few times and didn’t want to make the effort to only find emptiness.
I’ve not been able to climb stairs very well since knee surgery sixteen days ago. As a result, most of my stair-climbing has been going up to the loft, not down to the basement.
Today Yang gave me an earful on how much she’s been neglected. She was so mad that she refused to come near me. From afar, she meowed. I tried coaxing her to me, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with me. I went upstairs. And she continued to meow. This is very rare, for her to meow while I’m upstairs. I meowed back.
I don’t know who started it, but a short while ago, two cats tangled. I suppose it could have been all three, as none of my cats like each other. Yang especially doesn’t like her sister Ying. It was time to go back down to make sure no felines were hurt in the skirmish.
It took a bit to get Yang to jump on my lap. She’s been sitting with me long enough that I’ve got a lot of calico fur on my keyboard. It took her a while to settle down as she was constantly rubbing against my hands, my face.
I may be here a while as she’s finally settled and is taking with her steady purr rather than meows.