A couple of weeks ago we got home late after a games night.
Rufus had gotten tired of waiting for his dinner, and came down to the kitchen to see what the delay was. In our absence, he investigated the empty cans from the previous couple of nights’ feedings.
That wasn’t the first time he’s spent time in the kitchen and dining room, but it was almost certainly the longest sojourn, and the first in which he didn’t slink around under the furniture trying to avoid notice.
Once he saw us start preparing his food, he returned to his usual haunts upstairs. But apparently he’s reached a new plateau in his general comfort level.
He visited the kitchen and dining room a couple of times over the following week, and then while Maggie and I were exchanging gifts Christmas morning, he strolled downstairs again and took possession of the catnip rug.
That’s the designated stoner zone: there are catnip toys all over the house, but the bare herb gets distributed on that rug.
Anyway, Rufus hung out on the rug for the better part of an hour before an opportunity arose. Or rather, before I arose.
A well-cushioned chair, nicely warmed by a biped’s rear end: what’s not to like?
I’m not sure how long he stayed in my chair, because I left the room first, but it was a significant length of time.
Upstairs is still Rufus’ home turf, but the staircase doesn’t seem quite so long and forbidding as it once did. I forsee a new era of exploration, colonization, and diplomacy of the “swift paw to the top of the head” variety.