she is kneading the side of my left thigh with her sharp infectious claws and she is purring. she is leaning heavily into my hand as i scratch her head. her claws are stuck in my sweater and she is lazily and contentedly slitting her eyes at me. a tiny bead of drool is collecting in the corner of her pink mouth. she has been here for more than 10 minutes a solid warm breathing lump. she stays voluntarily.

cat owners might scoff and say "yes?" at this description. you are not owners of my cat.

tennyson is 7 years old now. possibly eight. she was born under my family room sofa and reared under the basement stairs. our lives have been intertwined since before she opened her eyes.

tennyson doesn't like people. tennysone doesn't like anything that her odds of killing aren't better than 2:1. she doesn't even like all potentially destructible organisms.

this has never happened before. not one single unitary time has she sat unemprisoned on my lap.

non-sequitor; character development; unbelievable truth.

I miss mandy.