“Oli, come lay with me.”
The grey kitten, sitting on the floor by the couch, looked at me with a steady gaze. I patted my lap. He did that stretch that starts at his front toes, travels up his arms into his shoulders then travels through his eyebrows and out through his ears.
“Come here, Mr. Pi.”
The grey kitten swivelled his head to considered The Boy sitting on the recliner.
The grey kitten licked his tail.
“Ooooooooooliveeeeeeer! Laaaaaaay wiiiiiiiith meeeeeee,” I whined. I patted my lap, now covered by quilt, again.
Oli walked away. Unable to remember where he left me once he arrived in the hallway, he called out.
“Oliver, come here,” I responded.
The grey kitten walked back into the room and sat on the floor by the couch.
“Seriously dude. Get thee into my lap.”
The grey kitten scratched his ear. He looked at me.
I leaned down close.
“Get. Up. Here. And. Lay. With. Your. Girl.”
Finally, Oliver jumped onto my lap and we had a snuggle. If I didn’t know better I’d think he was showing me how it feels to be ignored when he’s trying to get me up for breakfast.
And then he got so carried away with licking my finger than he chomped down on it.
I’m just happy he left you with enough fingers to type this.
Important lesson: it is better to wash pork chop off your fingers with water. Let you cat wash you at your own peril.
I, too, have been a victim of Smelly Finger Syndrome. It resulted in the one and only dog bite I’ve ever received.