snarfle in the plushy burnt umber

Wicket is an intense little guy. (Big guy. Whatever.)

When he hones in on something, he gives it his all. Even the sound for "kiss-kiss-treat's-coming" is completely ineffective when he's flushing Meera from underneath the rocking chair.

And when I'm obliviously, selfishly, greedily glugging water from a glass, he interrupts me mid-gulp with cries of "Filtered water! Filtered water! WANT!!"

Or when he's deep asleep, and I can't help but snarfle in the plushy burnt umber of his belly, he rolls over and tucks that belly away.

I, as distinct from the treat-giver and the water-giver, so rarely figure into his agenda for the day. But there are moments when he does finally lock eyes and ask for the kind of pettage that only a human with an opposable thumb can give.

He was sweetly needy like this this morning. I was trying to journal on my bed. He jumped up and began to clumsily circle, circle, circle, leaning against me the whole time, tripping over his own paws. Then he flopped, and I pulled his ears, rubbed his face, scratched his neck, got him purring like a motor.

Kai joined us and topped Wicket off with a good face-cleaning.