I was sitting on the couch in the living room checking my email. Ray was in the adjacent family room curled in his usual spot, fast asleep. The kittens were racing around, playing with each other. It was evening and we were all waiting for a predicted snowstorm to roll in.
(In Northern Virginia, "storm" is a term used by weathermen when predicting any kind of weather event. Unlike real storms in other parts of the country, "storms" in NO VA can bring a sprinkle of rain, a flurry of snow, or in this case, a whopping one to three inches of snow followed by ice then rain. The panic in the grocery stores was monumental.)
Harvey, who has been taken to multiple vets over the past two weeks trying to find a reason for his chronic diarrhea, ran out of steam in mid-chase and came to jump up on my lap. Finding it occupied by a laptop, the little guy wedged himself against the edge of the laptop and leaned into my chest. I crooned sweet nothings. Juno followed, but still being full of steam, walked along the back of the couch looking from side to side for something to get into. She jumped onto the end table and reached out a paw to touch the clock, trying to shove it off. I watched her and laughed. Siblings could not be more different.
As I continued to croon to my cats, the jingle of dog tags was heard. Harvey and Juno both looked alert but did not move. Ray ambled in, ears fully deployed in Dumbo mode. He sniffed along the couch and stopped at me, confused for a moment by the fact that I was crooning to my computer.
"He's right here, Ray," I said to my dog, giving away Harvey's position. "Be nice."
Ray reached out his neck a bit farther to touch the cat and give him a brief lick to show that there was no need to worry, then sat, alertly "staring" at us.
I laughed. Ray was using his well-know tactic of "See, I'm just sitting here. You can jump down and run away now," to get the cat to move so that he could chase it.
Harvey was not fooled. Juno watched interestedly from the end table.
Ray, not really very comfortable in a sitting position, didn't stay that way long. He stood and jumped his front feet up on the cushion in the small unoccupied space between me and the arm of the couch. Harvey still did not move and neither did Juno. I shook my head, ruefully. I knew what the hound wanted; he wanted my warm spot on the couch.
Still cradling Harvey, but having moved the computer, I slid along the couch to make room for the dog. Mister Jealous climbed slowly up and made himself somewhat comfortable, his back end tucked up but his head raised alertly and his ears still actively deployed in Dumbo mode, waiting for kitten activity to commence so that he could join in.
Bored by the inaction of her brother, Juno left. Harvey draped himself across my lap and continued to purr, watching the dog sleepily.
I sat and basked in the warm glow of my own little peaceable kingdom.