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Kat Korner: I am not as think as you pathetic I am - “An Introduction to Reggie”
My little boy is not quite yet two years old and on a daily basis fills my life with laughter and love. He does not have blond hair. Nor is he a red-head. My little boy has short fur of the superstitious nature and if the darkness of his coloring was a means to measure the degree of his impish nature, then Sir Reginald the Short is pitch black. Reggie does not seem to mind that I am typing this about him right now, because Reggie does not seem to mind anything.

If I had to label Reggie with a stereotype it would be as a tanned, laid back surfer teen with long, blond hair. His attitude is one of general playfulness, attention all the time and if events do not go his way, then that’s okay dude. He gives a silent Keanu Reeves “Whoooa,” shakes it off and goes on his merry way.

Reggie lives with two other felines in the house, both female, who are a little bit older to ten years older than he. Despite the girls’ age difference, they both have one thing in common: They can not stand Reggie.

He wants to play. They want to sleep. He wants to engage in primal fight attack; they bite him in the neck; swat towards his rump with claws to remind him they he is a boy and they are not in the mood to play.

Reg will go sulk for a few hours off in a corner by himself, but as my favorite surfer dude, Reggie shakes it off, forgets it even happened and is right back up on his surf board testing the waters where he best sees fit.

Yesterday Reggie reached a new high in his laid back surfing career. Using my spouse as a path, Reggie walked right over the body bridge that was in his way and sashayed his way over to me where I was – surprise, surprise – typing on my laptop while comfortable on the couch. He is a funny little boy for when he decides it is time to pet him or pay him some mind, Reggie does not care what you are doing nor does he think how comfortable or uncomfortable the end result will be for him.

I can always count on Reggie to walk onto my lap, press his little furry body into me and then plop down on my keyboard. There is a special maneuver I call the ‘Reggie scoot’ that when I see Reggie coming my way, I push my laptop forward towards my knees, about six inches or so, giving him room so he does not end up typing ‘wsctqrax’ in my document or sending a rude instant message to Australia. As impossible as that may sound, Reggie is very talented and has managed to delete two hours worth of work with a single paw swipe on the touch pad.

Reggie can be a real treat when he wants attention.

After successfully performing the ‘Reggie scoot’, my little boy decided that my scratching of his back, neck, ears, chin and paws was not enough so he plopped himself down on my lap, to stretch all the way across my legs and partly onto my keyboard. The scoot, it would seem, was not enough.

I am about to shoo him off, after all, I have got work to do, but then he does something that just entertained me to no end. Reggie decided to use my right hand as a pillow and released all muscle control in his body as he became dead.

The part that began to crack me up is that I was still working when he did this. Or to say, his newly rested head is now bobbing up and down as I type. Reggie feels me stop, glances up at me and almost grins as if to say, ‘It’s okay Mom. I don’t mind. Go right on ahead.’

It was a full ten minutes that I kept on typing, amused at his little beach ball head bouncing up and down, before I finally call it quits. He is picked him up and placed on a decoy set of blankets I have nearby when I want to offer an alternative to my lap.

Luckily for me, Reggie takes the bait every time. Otherwise, this article would never have been written.

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