The Most Forgiving Cat Ever

Last Sunday I was apparently not quite focused enough on my physical control, because my clumsiness was worse than usual. This did not bode well for my poor Apricot.

When I come in and take off my shoes, Apricot comes over and "helps." Which mostly consists of me petting him with one hand while untying my shoe laces with the other. Last Sunday morning, when I came in from my walk, we proceeded as usual.

I call him my upside down cat at this point because I'm bent over at the waist to untie my shoes (and get a little stretching in on the side) and he really does look like he's walking on the ceiling, if the ceiling looked like the floor.

As I'm untying my shoe laces, I have a particularly stubborn loop that won't loosen. I have to loosen the first set of loops as well as untie the laces in order to get my foot out. Suddenly my fingers lost their grip on the loop and my hand went flying backwards--right into Apricot's nose!

He was greatly offended. Well, actually, first he was frightened and ran away from me. After I went after him (shoe-less now) and apologized profusely, then he was offended. And after more apologies, he forgave me and let me pet him (and I carefully checked his nose to make sure I hadn't injured it).

From there the day went like Sundays often do. Apricot was his normal cheerful, somewhat pesty self -- he has started bumping into my leg on purpose when I'm occupied doing other things, like food prep. I wish he'd quit.

And the day gave up a whole hour in which I could take a nap. I was quite, quite tired, so this was wonderful.

When I woke up, slightly disoriented, the way one sometimes is, I stretched out my arms -- and hit Apricot on the nose. Seriously. He had just then come up on the bed and was walking up toward me, in the exact spot where my hand was moving into.

I rather thought this might be it: the moment in time when Apricot decides I am dangerous and must be treated with caution at all times. The trust he has in me is something I value highly, considering how rarely he gives such trust and how hard it was to earn. And how fragile it is.

I underestimated him. As I apologized profusely to the air -- he had disappeared off the bed already -- his little orange head reappeared coming up the stairs onto the bed again. And he walked up to me (I put my hands down on the blanket and kept them quiet where he could see them) and gave me a head bump and jumped up on the headboard.

Tentative scritches were met with approval. Indeed, there seemed to be no hard feelings, no grudges, nothing. He acted toward me the same way he always does.

I have the most forgiving cat in the world.

But not a forgetful one. He'll still help me untie my shoes when I come home from work, but not when I come in from my walk! (It's not the same set of shoes, which makes all the difference.)