OyChicago blog

The other day, I was lying on the couch catching up on some reading and Toolie jumped up on my chest to see what was going on. Then she started licking my face. Eventually, I got her to settle down and just lie on my stomach for a while. Feeling a little sleepy, I naturally dozed off and later woke up to Toolie licking my hand. It was asleep, though. She was trying to force her head under my hand so I would pet her, and since it was asleep, my hand just lay their limply. She just licked it.

Toolie's new hobby is standing on the back of the couch when I'm sitting there and proceeding to lick the top of my head. It's sort of a grooming ritual, I think. Toolie has other hobbies, too. Set something on the couch, the floor, or the table, and it is important that Toolie go and lay on that item of clothing, piece of paper or bag. No other spot will do for her except that exact spot that you placed something. 

She also likes to play string. That's her favorite game. It's where you dangle the string and she tries to get it. That's it.

Toolie is also up to date on the latest homeopathic medical treatments. After a particularly large meal (or really anytime) I might sit down to relax in the arm chair. Toolie aides in digestion by massaging my stomach with her paws. If only I could get her to give my shoulders a rub every now and then!

Sxsxqsazz

That series of letters was a sampling of what Toolie has to say about Oy!Chicago. As I write this part of the post, she has her butt on the computer, her stomach on my chest and her tongue all over my face. Am I allowed to print that? Because it really all just happened. 

Seven and a half years ago my mom found a stray cat that she couldn't keep. I was living with my sister at the time and I told her we didn't need any more animals. We had a dog, Pookie, and that was enough. Little Toolie came up and licked my hand. We decided Pookie could use a friend. I named her Toolie, she moved to Chicago and she's been my cat ever since.

Since then she has cried at the window almost every day when she sees me walking up to the apartment building. She "mew-isses" me. It sounds like she is saying "I mew-iss you! Mew-ake your way up here, quickly!" Usually, I run in and there she is at the door, waiting to play string. Most days, I get so wrapped up in the game, I don't even notice the vomit on the rug.