Look at dat puddy wittle face.
Now, imagine a lion’s roar. Full throat. Plaintive. Only in a 10-pound body.
That yowl — that roar — is Benny J. XXIII demanding his back scratch from me.
It’s part of our ritual. No matter where he is, no matter what he’s doing, no matter how far away he is, the minute I start brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed — there he is, like a feline Chucky doll.
Benny starts his caterwauling while I’m scrubbing my molars. He flops on the bed. Jumps up on the sink. Slinks under my feet. Bumps his head against my ankle bones. And yowls.
Oh, man, the yowling.
Years ago I started this ritual. I’d crawl into bed and scratch Benny’s back. You might know that not all cats love back scratches. Dogs love back scratches. Cats…not so much. But Benny is part dog. The harder I scratch, the more he loves it. And he wants every inch of him scratched and rubbed.
And when I do, he turns into Silly Putty. His purrs start out like a Cummins diesel on a January morning. When I flip him on his back, he goes into BMW M5 mode. And by the time I get under his chin, he’s a full on Ferrari.
That’s every night. Without end.
Goes for employees, too. Once you start scratching their backs you can’t stop. They like the endorphins.
Me? Benny and I have a good thing going. He says so.
