Not really. But really.
We suspect ADD. Or CADD, since he’s a cat.
Whatever issues Callie has, Rory has the opposite.
If Callie accidentally falls over just walking through the living room, Rory does an accidental somersault and lands on all four feet. On a table.
If Callie struggles to figure out “how to drink water from a bowl too small to stand in”, Rory helps her out by tipping the whole thing over and rolling around in it.
Then Callie licks the water off Rory.
He’s pleased as punch about it.
She’s happy to have such a nice brother.
If you come over, Rory will wear one of your shoes. If you were to take them off, of course.
He will also probably take a nap on your lap. Whether you want him to or not.
Rory has object permanence. If he were to get in trouble attempting to eat a nickel and I take it from him, he will watch where I put it and wait until I am asleep to retrieve it.
One night, I caught Rory halfway up the bookshelf. When I turned on the light to find out what all the ruckus was, he looked at me over his shoulder as if to say, “We could’ve avoided this if you left the jar of buttons where I can reach them,”
With Rory, no means go.
Stop means the game has begun.
With Rory, go also means go and the game never actually ends.
Until it is time to nap.
If it is naptime, he is asleep in a shoe or on a lap.
He will say, “Oh, hey, hi, I see you’ve brought your nap lap, that’s so nice of you, thank you very much,”
And before you are able to do anything about it, he will be asleep. Snore-purring. Snurring. Hugging your arm, resting the back of his head on your face
If there is actually something wrong with Rory, he will never be convinced.
But if you ask his sister, Callie, he’s almost purrfect. (She reserves the title of “total purrfection” for their other brother, Captain).