So I have this extremely affectionate cat. His name is Heals, or as I call him Healsie, and he’s a black and white tuxedo cat. You’d think he’d be more dignified than he is since he’s wearing a tux all the time but he’s definitely the farthest thing from suave and debonair ever.
This morning he entered the bathroom where I stood in front of the mirror getting ready for work. He’s one of those cats that hug, so pretty soon he was standing on the counter wrapping his front legs around my neck. He especially enjoys doing this fresh from the great outdoors, but this morning at least he wasn’t wet and dirty. His paws were pretty cold though.
So I’m petting him and he’s rubbing his face all over my face and it’s all just a giant love-fest, and then he climbs me like a ladder until I’m holding him like a baby in the crook of my arm. He’s still got his front leg around my neck and he’s rubbing and purring. Until I try to set him back on the counter, at which point he climbs as high as he can get.
This is when I text Rhonda, “Heals is wrapped around my head. It’s really making it hard to put on mascara.”
I have to go sit on the couch and hang out with him for a while in order to get him off me without getting scratched or snagged. He curls up on my chest (because I’m sitting all slouchy) and pretty soon here comes Hermione, the Traditionally Built Cat, and after sniffing at Heals for a while she makes a huge point of laying across my legs while somehow keeping her back to me in disdain.
Then I realize that I’m sitting on the living room sofa covered in cats listening to holiday music, which I had turned on for company because I was feeling a little melancholy this morning.
At which point I’m all, “Oh, hey, whoa,” and get up and brush myself off like Noooo that wasn’t what it looked like at all.
And I backed away from the couch and turned the radio to Adult Alternative just in case.