Her name is Peanut Jimmies.
Peanut Jimmies peers through the glass of my backdoor, watching me enjoy the nice weather March brings for Floridians. This furry girl somehow combines sulk with adamancy. She’s lazy about wanting to come outside, but serious about it at the same time.
This cat… if it wasn’t for my husband loving her so, she’d be bundled with the house when we sell it.
It was only a mere week ago Coronvirus was being treated flippantly, but as society edges toward a full quarantine, we are all finding ourselves inside at a time we are meant to be outside. Among friends and neighbors. Enjoying festivals and concerts. And a mere 30 minutes ago, I was inside reading a book about writing a short story. Peanut Jimmies was inside, sleeping near me. Close enough for me to see her, but purposely far enough that I couldn’t get a full head to paw pet if I wanted. She’s been social distancing her whole life.
I opt for a change of scenery within the confines of our home and relocate to the back patio. Within minutes I notice her creepy stare through the glass door, burning a hole through my resiliency in ignoring her because her stare is now coupled with her paws placed against the glass, and that means I’ll soon start to see her little lips open and close. Which also means my husband, working in our home office, will start to HEAR her lips open and close. She allows just enough time between each bellowing meow that you think she has given up, but if you know this cat, there is no white flag to be found in her camp.
She wins. I let her outside and take my place back on the patio chair. She walks past me, allowing her tail to barely brush against the fingertips I’ve dangled like a fishing lore. She wants a pet, but I want to pet her more, and she knows it.
Lazily making her way to the edge of the patio, she takes a seat and observes the highly manicured, great outdoors. She watches a small lizard make its way from one shrub to another, struggling through the bark and brush. It’s in a compromising position because the ground is loose and unstable, even for a small thing such as a lizard. Each hop across the open plain is met with a stumble. She could catch this lizard, if she wanted. But Peanut Jimmies doesn’t move an inch. Her breath doesn’t quicken. Her eyes don’t go wide. Her tail doesn’t flinch. To her, the effort just isn’t worth it.
So here we are, outside. I’m writing a story about my cats idiosyncrasies, as she sleeps just beyond arms reach.
This cat… if it wasn’t for my husband loving her so, I’d probably still keep her.