More on the mighty huntress

That would be the sweet little Lilly-cat. She has been...ah...affectionate lately.

As I was setting the table, the Lillianalithian was coiled up on my dining room chair. In general (I don't know if you're familiar with this thermometer, but it's rather accurate) one can tell the warmth of the room by the cat's sleeping position. Stretched at full length indicates 90 degrees or above, a tight ball with all paws and tails and ears tucked in around the edges indicates fifty degrees, and so on. Today the cat failed us. It was about seventy, which would call for flopping on one's side with paws splayed, but she more closely resembled a snail shell. Astonishing. And very cute.

Anyway, the time came for dinner and I didn't have the heart to rout her out. So I sat on the edge of the chair. (This usually convinces them to leave and has the added advantage of making them think it's their own idea.) She endured my company for a good five minutes, but then she made her fatal move. She twitched. I tentatively scooted back a bit. She sat up. I took full advantage of the newly freed seating. She stretched a bit and vacated it entirely. Happies!

After we had all eaten, Dad spoke to the floor. "What do you want?"

In response, a cat magically appeared on his lap. She nosed up toward him, and he resignedly began the full-body massage. Mom explained how the soror scratches her--the cat--behind the ears, and her eyes go closed in an ecstasy of petting. Dad patted her behind the ears. Wasn't right. I tried to show him how to do it. Lilly quite clearly gave me the, "boy was that that sub-par" look. I stopped.

And now she is draped upon Mom's lap, in quite a standard 70-degree position, cuddly and soft as all-get-out.

That cat really needs to learn to relax...