We've decided that maybe Stosh isn't so much being Oedipal after all. Louie
came in to watch what I thought was the Dance of Love's Longing, and what
Stosh is doing is more like something out of a Warner Brothers cartoon. Ever
seen the ones with the big, brawny bulldog named Marc Anthony, and the
feisty little kitten who makes friends with him? The kitty would climb on
top of Marc Anthony and start kneading with all four paws, and then settle
down and snooze. Methinks I have such a kitty. Stosh waits in bed for me,
and when I lie down he'll get on my thigh or gut, or my arm if I'm on my
side, and do the full four-footed knead. In keeping balance he makes motions
reminiscent of the Love Limbo, so I suppose it was easy to assume he was
getting his jollies.

He has been doing this since I made my decision to move to another company,
and I've been such a stressbag over it since last week. Stosh is doing me a
favor: he is quite the little masseur! At sixteen pounds he's a good weight,
and he's working at some pretty sore muscles. It seems like he knows where
it's hurting. And I just lie there thinking, what a good little boy I have,
that he loves Mama so much that he'll go to such trouble.

And trouble there is, because he really, REALLY gets into his work. He woke
me up four times last night to jump on my gut and give me a kneading. I
can't put him outside the bedroom. He's up there, kneading and purring, and
how can I get mad at him? Besides, he'll raise holy hell if we close the
bedroom door, and so will the others, because they all like to get in bed
with us. And then there's the chain-reaction: apparently I wake up Louie
every time, because when Stosh jumps on my gut I go "OOF!" in my sleep!

Blessed be,
Baha