My anxiety-ridden cat recently advanced to a peculiar routine. If I sit precisely in a certain spot on the couch, with the fuzzy brown blanket, Merlin will snuggle up beside me, turn on his side, and meow and meow until I rub his tummy, massage his paws, and pay him all sorts of loving attention. He purrs loudly, splays his paws, and rolls closer into me. He will not let anyone touch him otherwise. He runs into hiding most of the day.
If I turn my attention for even a second, Merlin presses harder, meows more, and turns his head around to give me a demanding over-the-shoulder-look. It’s a look that says, “I’m here. So do your part!”
My part is to love him and attend to him. I think about how insistent this creature is. I think about how adorable his pitiful meows are. I think about how all I want to do is love that odd little cat!