On Saturday, like every other day, the sun rises in the east. My house faces east, but on Saturday, we leave the front door open so there’s a Sun Puddle pouring in the doorway.
The cats love it. They will spread out on the Flong and absorb the morning rays and look ecstatic.
For the uninitiated, a Flong is a throw rug, circular, printed in a blue and white target pattern, and it sells for about five bucks at Ikea. Berni bought it because the word Flong struck her funny. Now it’s a cat outpost on weekend mornings when the door can be left open.
The problem with this is that Pocky and Sheldon both want the Sun Puddle, but they hate each other. Therefore, one will stake out the Flong, and the other will seek alternatives; the front window allows shafts of light between the curtains, and there are often sun puddles in front of the dining table and splattered across the front of the couch.
When I staggered downstairs this morning, Pocky had already taken the Flong, and Sheldon basked in another puddle near the table and Berni’s feet, while she sipped coffee and waited for full consciousness to infuse. I poured a cup of coffee, made a couple of Eggo waffles, and shuffled into the living room to do likewise.
By this time, positions had changed. Now Sheldon had the Flong, and Pocky lay on the floor in front of the couch, spread out on his back, absorbing the solar rays on his tummy.
Berni and I sat and sipped coffee and ate Eggos and murmured at each other. Pocky rolled around in the sun puddle. Time passed.
Until Berni remarked, “Look at Pocky. Does he think he’s chasing the sunlight?”
I looked at the cats. Sheldon was still spread on the Flong, watching squirrels in the front yard… but Pocky was looking intently under the dust ruffle on the couch. Occasionally, he would poke his paws under it.
I still wasn’t awake yet. “Dust bunnies?” I grumbled.
“No,” said Berni. “The sun’s rising. The window is starting to cut off the sunshine. The sun puddle is crawling DOWN the front of the couch, and I think Pocky thinks the sunlight is crawling UNDER THE COUCH, and he wants it to STOP.”
I looked at Pocky. Durned if it didn’t look like it.
“So… you’re telling me that Pocky thinks the sun sets at nine in the morning, and it sets under the living room couch?”
Y’know, religions have started over weirder things.
