He barks, he whines, he waggles his head back and forth. He throws his whole self into the air and spins like a top. He races around the house. He is the very essence of exuberance. The party ends only after I have hugged him and petted him and allowed both my hands to be washed. Thoroughly. He's not sure where I go each day, but he's pretty sure I'm getting my hands all icky out there. He takes his clean-up job very seriously.
It is, quite frankly, marvelous. No matter how crappy the work day or the weather, no matter how tired I am or how achy I might be, how could I not love coming home to that?
And, really, look at that face. How could you not love that?
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4 comments:
It's the homecoming part that makes me so enamored with Frank the cat. In the twilight of dawn, I pull up to the house and always (always!) he's right at the car door - he'd open it carriage attendant-like if only he could.
Harley does the same. It's the best.
The Greys, being cats, are more restrained, but I get a version of the same thing. It's wonderful to have someone be so happy to see you and not to ask anything in return. Except some scritches.
Which must be why I have four critters -- I need a lot of homecoming gratitude. And they never let me down.
That Mojo is turning into a real handsome boy.
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