Me: “I dreamed I had to drive through nine inches of snow to see my family.”

Tweak: “Uh huh.”

Me: “But I didn’t have a pickup truck, so I traded for one with, um, favors.”

Tweak: “Yep.”

Me: “You don’t care about any of this, do you?”

Tweak: “Nope.”

Me: “Do cats dream?”

Tweak: “Only about not having this conversation.”

 

Tweak has sealed me into bed (again) so I lift the covers under her and roll her over like a clown barrel. Or, I TRY. Obstacle cats weigh 600 pounds.

Me: “I need to make coffee.”

She twists out of my way now like it was her idea in the first place and begins her morning ablutions.

Tweak: “You go, girl.”

She licks one front toe with the fervor of a congressman.

Me: “And then I have to go to work.”

Exhausted from all this listening, Tweak collapses and curls into a ball.

Tweak: “I’ll be right here.”

 

2 July 2014, “Tolerating Tweak”