Furball Frankie

My hooman is driving me mad today. Everywhere I go, he keeps coming up to me and saying 'You're so cute!' Then he starts saying silly things in a squeaky voice: 'Jooooojsh! Jooojshy-jooooojsh!' 'You're such a schmoopie doopie poople face!' 'Look at that little floofy belly!' He couples this with burying his face in my fur and making lots of 'mwah!' sounds. I just want peace. He can reach me on the bed. He can reach me on sofa. He can't reach me way down on the floor. He's too old. And too tubby. I'm safe here.

I had to clean my back feets today, so I began my usual routine. I tucked my back feets in. Stuck my back feets out. In. Out. In. Out. I shook them all about. I had a tricky licky, Then I turned around. That's how I cleans my feets.

I was having sniffs, around my home. I sniffed lots of things — cupboards, chairs, boxes. Then my catty nostrils caught the scent of something. It was cheesy. It was really strong. It ponged. I tried to find out where it was coming from. I was pulled towards the big, main room, where my hooman was sitting. The smell was even stronger. Next to him were his feets covers. That's where the smell was coming from. *Catty gag* Poo, hooman — your feets stinks! They needs a wash. I meowed and looked up at him in disbelief...    

Wherever possible, I like to help my hooman throughout the day. In fact, to help him with his 'werk', it's my job to: Look cute all day. Take naps. Leave my belly available for fluffy therapy. Purr. Blink. Wee in my tray, to give my hooman something to get up for. Talk to my hooman, to keep him company. Sit on top of things that he needs. By doing all of this, I'm offering my hooman my service. This is my sacrifice to him.        

I like to have a comfy. It's my preferred way of napping. So my hooman made me happy before. I was having a rest in his napping quarters, near the soft cushions for his head, when he came into the room. He said 'Frankiiiiiiie! You're so cute!' I blinked at him. Then he came over to me and stroked my head, gave me ear scritches, and stroked my back. I blinked again. After that he pulled the covers up and laid them over me. This was nice. I had warms. He started telling me a catty story: 'Once upon a time, there was a panther in the jungle who...' I napped.

We cats only allow hoomans access to our bellies when we feel safe around them. We only allow belly rubs when we truly trust them. Sometimes, access to our bellies is a trap, and we'll attack as soon as the first hand touches us. I has decided I quite like my hooman. This means he is granted full fluffy belly access. In turn, this means I gets my full belly rubbed - from chin to back feets. Happy. Some may say the 'full access pose' is a little undignified, but I don't care — I loves belly rubs.