Shmoggleberry

For the last few weeks, Shmogg has been somewhat ignored. Not intentionally, but we have both been very busy and almost all our home time is taken up by Fluffy whether we like it or not. Shmogg sits on the back of my armchair and watches Fluff demand (and get) all of the attention.

I didn't realise just how neglected Shmogg was until Friday when I had a marathon late-night on-line session. Fluffy's bedtime is strictly before 11pm, when she is given her food and locked in the garage. After the dog has gone to bed, it is then "safe" for Shmogg to descend from his armchair retreat and resume his secret kitty business without being disturbed by a cold wet nose being shoved up his butt with enthusiasm. I was on-line until the not-so-wee small hours and after Shmogg had reconnoitred his territory he crawled over to my lap and started purring.

Shmogg sat contentedly on me, and once I had started to scratch and he had started to get really into purring, my on-line activities were forgotten. His favourite place for scritching is behind the ears and on the sides of his cheeks, and my nails are just long enough to get right in and give a most satisfying scratch. It had been so long since we had had the opportunity to do this very simple thing, I had almost forgotten how wonderful the cat-human bond could be. He purred, I scratched, we looked into each other's eyes, and all was right with the world.

Except for the fur. I had noticed that Shmogg didn't feel as soft and slinky as he usually did, but I wasn't overly concerned. I should have been. By just scratching around the cheeks and behind the ears, he had already shed enough fur for me to knit myself a whole other cat. I felt bad. The amount of cat fur being deposited all over my clothes was showing me how much time we hadn't spent together recently. Each sinus- irritating strand was testament to the days he had gone without the good deep scritch that only a finger-nailed human can give. I scratched and scritched and rubbed and massaged for well over an hour, and still that wonderful soft comforting fuzz was spilling out over my fingers. Shmogg did not stop forcing his face into my hands, and never got over- excited enough to bite me. Out the fur wafted, all down the front of me, into my keyboard, onto the carpet, everywhere it floated, and still more was coming out.

After the neck, I went down his whole body, scratching and stroking and gently "plucking" him, and he sat with purring patience while I gave him a good deep grooming. He isn't usually particularly appreciative of physical attention once I leave the neck region, but he must have needed this, because although the purring decreased in intensity from a badly-tuned two-stroke to a hungry mozzie, it didn't stop. He didn't bound off my lap and look at me with indignation, and he didn't try to swipe me. He just lay there, turning over when necessary, all the while giving me that eyes-half-closed kitty-bliss look.

After 2 solid hours of scritches, my sinus declared surrender and my clothes concurred. I had to get an antihistamine whether I wanted to or not, but at least when I gently removed Shmogg from my lap, his coat was soft and slinky again. I don't think I could have felt more guilty had he left a suicide note. Our bond, however, had been renewed and I knew that although I was a terrible slave, Shmogg would still allow me the honour of opening his cans for him. (I've even been remiss at that, Joel's been doing it while I sleep in).

Sometimes I guess we can all take each other for granted. It doesn't take too long out of my day (or Shmogg's) to stop what we are doing and spend some time together enjoying each other's company. Him sitting in my lap and me scritching is not a hard thing to do, and I don't think either of us could say we don't enjoy doing it, but we have still put it off like some hard, onerous task. Its one of those things that you don't know how much you've missed it until you've had it again, and it makes you wonder why on earth you stopped doing it the first place, considering how much reward you get for so little effort. I feel closer to Shmogg now than I have done for a long time, and although I can't grant him his two biggest wishes of getting rid of the dog and unlimited chicken schnitzels, I feel that we are now closer than we have been in a long long time. I hate the fact that I slowly let this wonderful bond between Shmogg and I to deteriorate to the point where it was physically noticeable, but I feel lucky that I've got myself a second chance. Its a sad testament to modern living that the really important things in life often get neglected because the less important things can scream louder, and ironically, it is a "mere animal" that is capable of teaching us that.

Give your loved ones a hug. Tell them that you love them. Now, not later. Later may be too late.

Copyright © Vicky Chapman
April 11, 2000