Now that my mother has her new (my old) iPhone, we have gotten into the habit of texting each other with cat photos every morning. A “here’s the status of my lap, what about yours?” kind of thing.
As soon as I settle myself on the chaise–and sometimes before I’m settled–cats are claiming their space on my outstretched legs. There is always conflict, as Chipotle and Oliver both want the coveted top spot, and they slap and bite and pull each other’s hair out to get their way. And there is always more nudging and nestling and occasionally a bit of pushing and shoving as more cats arrive and need to claim a spot. Some mornings, I have five cats blanketing my legs. The drama on my lap, once Chipotle and Oliver have sorted it out and turned their heads in opposite directions so they can ignore everything except the warmth of their frenemy, is the quiet drama of the wedge: which head will tuck against which haunch?
My mother deals with a different kind of drama.
Yesterday, Wilhemina took the first round, while Fergus was left to look on and wait his turn.
The sound of turkeys drew Wilhemina out of the lap to the window, Fergus had left the room for a bite to eat to sustain more waiting in line, and Lola cut in front of him.
Fergus got back in line to wait:
Since Lola showed no sign of letting him have a turn, Fergus decided to up the ante and moved closer:
Finally, he just couldn’t take it anymore. He made his move and climbed on top of Lola:
Wilhemina was left to look over my mom’s shoulder and wait for her next opportunity:
the dirigible plum 
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