This has been a crappy day. So let’s end it with a gratuitous Tig belly shot.
He’s upstairs right now in the laundry basket, which was used to carry laundry. He waits anxiously while I empty it, then he jumps in, lies down, and purrs loudly. If I have a string, I dangle it at him through the bars of the basket, which he loves.
Meantime, Gracie generally runs like hell, because she’s afraid of the basket when I put it on the bed. She sleeps in it when it’s half-full of laundry, but then it’s on the floor where, apparently, it’s safe.
Tig joins me in wishing for peace for our friends in Israel tonight, and comfort for the mourners and the families of the wounded.
More cat therapy can be found here, at the latest Carnival of the Cats.
Thanks for the photo.
How does Tig react to bellyrubs?
He loves them. He’s a bellyrub slut. He’ll roll over for anyone willing to rub his belly.
Gracie likes them, too, but she’s a one-woman cat. I’m the only one allowed to rub her belly.
Fuzzy Tummy!
Now I miss The Grumpus.
Must tummy-molest Frisky when I get home.
Ok, THIS cat post is pretty hot. ;-)
You know, I hadn’t realized how much of a PlayKitty pose that is until you pointed it out, Paul.
But I really don’t think this is gonna get me a husband.
(For those of you going “huh”?, Paul and I have been discussing the hotness of my blog over at Volokh.com.)
I don’t know, Meryl. I think there’s a lot of men out there trolling the internet for [[MUST… RESIST…!}]
Pussycats?
Precisely. Where is Miss Slocombe when we need her?
Being serviced, er, served, I suppose.
(I really typed it that way first, was going to delete it and decided to just leave it.)
Well, Tig looks like he could use some heavy petting, surely.
Okay, Paul, you’ve gotten me to stop.
Tig prefers being brushed, anyway. I can’t even say the b-word in his hearing.
Okay, Paul, you’ve gotten me to stop.
Hah, I win! :-)
Meowza’s our bellyrub cat, he has this habit of playing irresistable when he shows his belly.