At long last, they got rid of the rug.
I didn’t want to rain on their fashion sense, but really, the thing was an embarrassment.
Holes. Loose threads.
The stuff would tangle in my claws and I wouldn’t be able to shake it off.
Day after day I would track the movements of the mail carrier. Watching the incursions onto our neighbors’ porches hoping this would be the day when our home would be spared.
But no, as surely as the sun rises in the sky, that blue-suited carrier with the bulging bag would turn-up on our front steps. Step, by inexorable step, approaching our home.
Rushing to the door, the window, the door again, I would mount a furious protest.–Off my property.–You are not welcome here.–Go away.–Now!
And, once again, I would’ve beaten back the intruder, until another day.
Our home temporarily secured, I would wearily climb back on the sofa and there, in my claws, would be turquoise blue threads. Pieces of the dining room rug.
The rug and I had a love-hate relationship. I liked the ease with which it moved. I could scuffle the corners and make a nice, soft mound on which to lie. But I didn’t like the way it shredded.
Do you know how uncomfortable it is to have fibers, thick strands, caught in your claws?
Anyway, they finally did something. We have a new rug now. Stripey. With white tuffty things.
A first I wasn’t sure. The rug didn’t move easily. I couldn’t scrap it together to make a nest.
Something even better happened.
They placed extra soft, cushiony pieces right in front of the window. I can be close to my guardpost. Keep an eye on things. Get bathed in the heat that pours out below, and rest on a premade bed.