I don't have much time to post tonight because Toffee taught himself to fetch. I've been tossing various fluffy, sparkly balls to him all night; when he lost one, he was smart enough to find another one in the toy basket and bring it to me on the sofa. He raced like a maniac when I threw the ball. He looked adorable carrying it in his mouth, growling softly.
I've had cats in the past who would fetch, but in a much more desultory fashion. They'd bring me the toy once or twice, but then they'd get distracted or bored. If I asked them to bring me the toy, they'd look at me like I was out of my mind. That's what I'd expect from a cat. I've never seen one with Toffee's dog-like zeal. The only times Toffee screwed up his routine were when my husband tried to film us. Toffee proved he is a cat after all.
I occasionally tossed his toy onto the chair where Wendy sat watching us with interest. Twice, she generously batted it right to Toffee, who was waiting politely on the floor. The third time, she began playing with it herself, and Toffee tried to investigate. She smacked him on the head and that was that. He got himself another sparkle ball.
It's difficult to write about art (I have a looming deadline) and play fetch at the same time. Fetch is so much more interesting than 17th-century cabinetry. At one point, I had to give up and bake brownies, which are approximately ten times more interesting than 17th-century cabinetry. I think museums should sell (or hand out) brownies in their European decorative arts galleries; it could save lives.
In other news, Harris curled up in my lap twice today, napping on me as I worked at my desk. It's possibly the most endearing thing he's ever done and he's always been outrageously sweet. So I typed with one hand while he rested his head on the other one. I don't think it gets better than that... unless, perhaps, you have a cat who drops his toys into your waiting hand.