How soon these cat lovers forget. Perhaps my favorite pet of all times was Roy M. Quick. I told you the story a few years ago, but I’m getting too much static about my obsession favoring the canine species.
Here’s a recap of my love affair with my tabby pal:
I think everyone over 70 should have Roy M. Quick, my cat for almost two decades.
Let’s face it, I’m a dog guy. My other two cats don’t care a smidgen about what’s going on in my life. They don’t come when I call them. They stare at me from across the room and make me feel uncomfortable, like I’ve done some nasty deed.
Roy M. Quick is different. He comes when I call him and often when I don’t. Roy is task-driven. He helps me shave each morning. He checks the temperature of the tap water and he paws my shaving cream to inspect its consistency.
Roy takes naps with me. He lies on my chest, puts a paw on each side of my face and matches the rate of his breathing to mine. And, in the mornings, I don’t need an alarm clock. At 5:30 a.m. sharp, Roy sticks his wet nose in my ear.
When I’m losing at chess, which is often, one swish of Roy’s tail sends pawns and knights flying off the board. I’m uncertain how Roy knows I’m losing, but the odds are in his favor.
Roy M. Quick reduces my blood pressure. He makes me smile. Roy listens to me on my bad days.
If you are over 70, find your Roy M. Quick.
“My bad”