How Sweet He Is 

Liz Kollar

Joseph kissed me this morning. His tongue was rough and wet. His head rubbed mine with whiskered enthusiasm. I was overwhelmed with joy and affection toward him and responded in kind, not with my tongue, mind you, but by rubbing his head with my cheek.

Joseph was an early riser and usually awakened me at 6:30 every morning by banging on the basement door, anxious and determined to be by my side once again. This kissy sign of affection, however, was new. I read it as a sign of commitment, an approval of my love toward him. He was no longer nipping my fingers and my toes but, rather, walking beside me, tamed for the moment by peaceful adoration.

Joseph walked gracefully beside me into the kitchen. His lithe body rubbing against me, his feet padding softly on the kitchen linoleum. I knew better than to trust this blatant show of affection though, A typical male, I knew he would wind himself around me until his appetite was fulfilled.

He was hungry. Joseph was always hungry, beseeching me for his breakfast. Promising fidelity until his stomach was satisfied and then abandoning me for the plush comfort of the easy chair in the living room where he could curl up and fall asleep, his hunger abated his appetite sated. Like all males, Joseph was ruled by his passion for food, for love, and for comfort, all in that order.

My seventeen-pound black and white male cat had worked on the "strings of my heart" once again. He'd wooed me with his wiles until I'd finally shooed him away. Now, as the morning sun sent its rays across my yard and through my windows at the back of the house announcing the start of another day, the two of us, filled with that strange contentment only pet owners can explain, went to work. Busying myself in the kitchen, I watched as he curled up on his chair, happily catching fat mice in his dreams and purring like a sleek Corvette until he was fast asleep.

©Liz Kollar 2002