We’re having some less than Mrs. Wigglebottom friendly weather, so we were unable to go for our walk. Instead, Mrs. Wigglebottom has spent the morning shaking, barking, and now, hiding under my feet.
Apparently, the placement of my foot on her back was crucial to her feeling secure and safe from the thunder, because we had to spend a good five minutes poking and wiggling and turning in circles in order to get it just right.
Still, you know, there was a time in Mrs. Wigglebottom’s life when, on days like this, you could have just picked her up and tucked her inside your coat and let her sleep where it was warm and dry and she could hear your heart beating.
I used to love to do that when I was little, sneak into my parents’ room first thing in the morning and put my head on my dad’s chest and listen to his heart beat.
When I had my sonogram, back in that dreadful autumn of doom, that actually was one of the nice things that happened. This kind woman put a wand up inside me and asked if I wanted to hear. I said yes and, there it was, that ancient sound of life squooshing through my body–squish squash, squish squash–in concert with the lub dub of my beating heart.
It was amazing, to hear my body just moving along in there without any conscious effort from me.
The dog sounds like she has a big heart, when she’ll let you listen to it. It’s hard for her to lay still when I put my head near her. She wants to lick me or roll over so that I can rub her belly. But she lets the Butcher use her as a pillow all the time.
That makes me a little jealous.
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Tiny Cat Pants 