Butterscotch

When I was 3 I got a kitten. He was a sweet orange kitty I named Butterscotch. I loved that kitty. I could dress him up in doll clothes and push him around in a stroller. He was the most forgiving cat, letting a 3-year-old carry him around by the neck.
He lived to be 17 years old, and every night of his life he slept on my pillow. He would "sharpen his claws" in my hair all night and purr. As he got older he got really quite...rotund. He was a perfectly lazy, fat lump of silky orange and white fur that curled around my head as I slept. With age and perhaps his obesity, his purring became quite a bit less soothing and much more disturbing over time. It would pause, skip and stutter instead of hum smoothly in my ear. Sometimes I would jolt awake when he seemed to stop breathing, and shake him and poke him until he started again. I did not like that part so much.

So what brings these old memories to mind you might ask? Well a certain someone, who sometimes sleeps curled up on my pillow or draped across my face happens to sound just like my obese, geriatric cat with the sleep apnea. How pleasant he is to sleep with.

You talkin' 'bout me Mama?