Love your pets, just don't LOVE your pets.

Meet Leopold.

Leopold is not my cat. Nor will he ever be. As my two cats enjoy their summer home (i.e. Rik's place) I thought it would be nice to house a cat that had been at City Critters too long. Leopold is getting adopted in early September, when his person gets her apartment.

Leopold is a fat, affectionate, lazy cat rescued from New Orleans. He baas like a sheep. And he likes nothing more than to eat and cuddle.

So, although I will be fine giving Leopold up to his new owner (I am allergic to him, and really, there are enough cats in my life,) I totally love him. He is the lap cat I had been looking for all along. He sleeps in my bed.

Last night, I am sleeping, and Leopold starts baa-ing and crawls into bed. He head-butts me and crawls into my stomach, as he's done since I got him a couple of days ago. But then he does something new... he starts patting me with his paw.

"Um, excuse me," he pats.

I ignore it.

"Hello?" He does it again.

It isn't that thing cats do, kneading their paws into you like you're their mom. He usually just does that to my pillow. Evidently my down pillow feels like mom.

This was a distinct poking, in order to get my attention. He jams his pudgy, furry self harder into my gut.

I stroke his head. He purrs.

I stop. He pats.

I am tired. I put my arm around him. He purrs louder.

I am now spooning Leopold. My arm's full weight is draped around his now sleeping body.

That's all. There's no Dan Savage "How'd That Happen?" letters in the making. I have no interest in having an intimate encounter with any cat, much less one that is not my own. But it made me so happy knowing how comforted this poor cat felt, with everything he must have gone through, and it made me sad to know that somewhere, his real owner is missing him.