Meet Chubby. Chub, Chubinski, Mr. Chubbles, Chubblish. Ironically named, he was the smallest of his litter. His face, with it’s white and black markings, gave our 14-year-old son the impression of a chubby face. Hence the name. It’s a name that makes my students giggle when I tell stories about him. I’m sure they think his is in fact, chubby. But he’s not.
He can be impossibly long. Stretching out to sun himself.
He can be tiny. Curled up on top of a pile of shirts, on top of a chest of drawers.
He is nearly 14 and spends an inordinate amount of time sleeping. But there are times when his inner kitten emerges. When he pounces on something no one else can see. When he chases his tail. When he runs down the hall when the front door is opened. When he bats at any offered string or ribbon.
He is our constant companion. On top of your feet when you wake up in the morning, on top of the table, if you let him, so he can be on top of the newspaper as you attempt to read it. On top of the keyboard as you attempt to type, on top of your chest when you nap. And of course on top of your lap whenever you are in a chair he’d like to be on.
He used to go out and stay out. In those days, he’d come home in the early morning and sleep all day. After some nighttime adventures, he’d limp around home for a few days to nurse his wounds. One time, tending a bloodied ear, the vet assured me that he was the aggressor because his wounds were on his face. Strangely, that made me proud.
He used to go to the neighbors and get daily treats. Years went by before our neighbor realized that their morning visitor was our cat. Strangely, that made me feel cheated on.
Now, he stays close to home. Our snack-giving neighbors have moved on and dog owners moved in. Either he instinctually knows that his powers have diminished, there are no more treats to get, or he’s just rather sleep.
He is not the agile cat he once was, but he still can find his way into his a fresh basket of laundry and into our hearts.
Today’s post is inspired by Elisabeth Ellington’s wonderful Portrait of Potato.
To Read To Write To Be 