Frank's Fifteen Minutes

Frank doesn't get a lot of print space.  He tends to keep a low profile, thinking perhaps that just having a pretty face is enough.  I did wake up this morning with Frank on my mind, primarily because he was also on my legs.  Bessie Anne was snoring away in her customary spot with her head on the other pillow so I couldn't roll out of bed in that direction.  It defies science and logic that a thirteen-pound cat can become an immovable object, but Frank manages to do that when he's settled, warm and comfortable.  Performing a series of maneuvers that would have made a contortionist jealous, I finally managed to extricate myself and struggle out of bed.  This must have amused the solidly placed Frank no end.  While cats hate to be laughed at, they do have a bizarre sense of humor, made apparent this morning when, after I finally got my feet on the floor, Frank jumped off the bed to follow me to the kitchen and I swear he was smirking.  There are those who think the world is categorically divided into two factions, dog people and cat people, but I am one who cannot think of living without both.  Of course, I can't think of living without chickens, sheep, and goats, either.