Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
We chat for a while longer, until I’ve managed to comb out enough fur to make a whole flock of birds comfortable nests, and then I tell Mr. O’Toole that I have to go visit with my next client.
I take my teacup to the kitchen and dump it down the drain, then remind him that he can turn off the Treats button if Bumbles is using it too much. And then I’m off to see Prince Francis.
When I get to the house, I realize I don’t have a key. I’m about to message Miles, but I find he’s beaten me to it.
Miles: key is under the dying plant and tuna might be PF’s fave food.
I compose a thank-you message three times before finally erasing the entire thing and sending a thumbs-up emoji instead.
I open the door cautiously, in case Prince Francis is waiting close by with the intention of bolting. But apart from the stack of unopened mail on the floor, the hallway is empty. “Hello, Prince Francis, it’s Kitty! I’ve come to love you!”
Silence follows as I flick on the light and close the door. The first thing I notice is that the horrible porcelain dolls are no longer staring at the entryway because they’re lying on top of each other. One of them is on the floor, facedown.
“Uh-oh, Prince Francis, have you been up to no good?” I cross over and pick the doll up, unsure if I’m relieved that the face isn’t shattered. I set it back on the sideboard and continue to the living room.
It’s as if Miles hadn’t swept up the floor debris at all yesterday. Below the two shelving units flanking the fireplace are new piles of fallen items. I scan them, and the fireplace mantel, which is now missing several gnomes, but I don’t spot Prince Francis anywhere.
I check behind the couch, since it’s a go-to hiding spot for badly behaved kitties.
But I notice the curtains shift across the room. I also note, for the first time, that they’re not in the best shape. There are pulls along the bottom, a sure sign that Prince Francis has been using them as a scratching post or a ladder. I follow the line of the curtain all the way to the rod that stops about a foot from the ceiling.
And there he is, perched like an angry, adorable gargoyle on top of the rod, staring down at me.
“Hello, Prince Francis! Did I scare you?”
He stares back at me, still as a statue.
“Would you like to come down and have a treat?” I pull the small baggie I carry with me from my pocket—in case of emergency or cuteness overload—and shake it.
His right paw and eye twitch, but still nothing.
It’s a standoff. Well, a one-sided one, anyway.
And the best way to end it is to ignore the culprit. I take a seat in the lounger, and a minute later he jumps onto the table and paws at the bag of treats sitting there.
I set one by his paw and give him a scratch behind the ear as he gobbles it up. “We need to get a handle on this destructive behavior, Prince Francis. Your mom would not be impressed if she knew what kind of shenanigans you were getting up to while she’s away.”
He purrs and makes a squeaky sound, like a dog toy being chewed. Eventually he climbs into my lap, and we spend a good while sitting there, me petting him, him purring. It’s clear he’s used to lots of affection, and with his human away, he’s feeling abandoned.
It’s a symbiotic exchange of love and comfort. And while in some ways it’s conditional because he knows there’s food attached to me and my warm lap and my affection, it’s not the kind of conditional love that humans are guilty of, the kind that can break a heart. Cat love is different. You know you belong to them when they choose you, not the other way around. It’s a special kind of bond.
And in some ways, I can understand why certain people have an inclination toward dogs instead of cats. They’re forever children who require love and attention. But when a cat needs your love, you know you’ve become theirs.
I snap a quick picture and send it to Miles along with a short message:
Prince Francis is soaking up the love.
I want to show him that Prince Francis isn’t a naughty gremlin. That he has love to give if a person is willing to give a little themself.
I have a feeling that if I let him, Prince Francis would spend all day in my lap, but I have other furry friends to attend to, so eventually I encourage him to get up so I can feed him properly and take care of the litter situation, another thing I forgot to ask Miles about.