Photo of Lily and Izzie when they were both kittens.
Izzie, the indoor cat, likes my lap and my lap only. When the three humans in our family are sitting down together to watch "Lost" or whatever other show we can agree on (not yet found), Izzie hops into my lap. If I hand her to Lily, Izzie hops right out of Lily's lap and into mine. I feel sort of bad about this, as I know what a pleasure it is to have a cat purring in your lap.
So Lily and I switched chairs. Izzie still hopped in my lap.
"Make yourself uncomfortable, Mom," Lily says. So I stick my arms and legs up so that my lap is the Himalayas, only to have Izzie hop on anyway.
Lily so wants to have the cat in her lap that she squeezes into the chair with me. We really don't fit, but I figure it won't be much longer before my teenager won't like to be in the same house with me, much less the same chair, so I cope. The cat will join us in this pile of bodies. Everybody's happy. Sort of.
"Mom, that cat is biased. She only likes you," Lily says. "And she's my cat. I bought her with my own money. Izzie is mine, not yours."
"I'm sorry," I say.
"I've never done anything to that cat. Why won't she sit in my lap?" Lily asks.
"I'm probably warmer and softer," I say.
"I'm going to get you a kitten for Mother's Day," she says. "That way you can have your own cat."





