My cat lives, it seems, for a gentle scratching between his perky little ears. He waits, perched on the dryer or the table, for me to pass. He spends his day divided between these places, alternately sunning himself and sleeping. He deliberately situates himself for maximum contact. Sometimes he grows tired of waiting and seeks me out himself. He will stand with his entire bodyweight pushed against my arm and side, preventing any actions save those that further his ends. Smart cat. He curls himself against me, every inch of his small body against mine, endlessly wanting more.
Is this a story about a cat?