Furball Frankie

I wish my hooman would understand - sometimes I just want to sit next to him, but not have fuss. When he's on his compooter, I like to do this. I especially like sitting on the thing with the scrawled writing all over it - it's comfy. My hooman says 'Frankie, you've got so many soft seats you could sit on', but I ignore him. He cannot stop giving me fuss though. He strokes my back. He scritches near my tail. He scritches my ears. He smooshes my face. He strokes my head. I have to turn round and give him 'the look'. This should be enough for him to leave me alone, but then he says 'It's your fault - you shouldn't be so cute and fluffy'. I despair - I really do.

I decided the cupboards needed exploring again. I meowed at all of them, and my hooman let me in each time. I meowed at the biggest one last. My hooman opened it, and...what a mess. So much stuff. I didn't know what to sniff first. I had a confused. What did he need with all this stuff? Should I make a little nest with it, and have a nap? Was any of it useful? Were there maybe meeces hiding in it? Was there a magical kingdom within? How can hooman live like this? What a mess.          

I decided to have some special time with my hooman last night. I decided to grace him with my presence at the dinner table (why he doesn't eat from the floor, I've no idea). It felt like the right occasion. He sat down and had - from what I could smell - some beef. I sat down and had some ham. He lowered the lighting and put a burning thing in the middle of the table. He looked at me. I blinked at him. He said 'wait', but the ham smelt too good so I got started. It was an important evening - it's good to let my hooman know just how much I tolerate him.

I knows it's in my home. I can smell it. It's somewhere. My hooman can't hide it from me. He's got ham somewhere. I'm patiently waiting by my bowl. Meowing. Looking at him. Willing him to do the right thing. I'll keep looking at him. I'll keep meowing. I know he'll bring it to me eventually. It's just a case of waiting.          

Sigh...sometimes I think me and my hooman speak another language. If I come up to him, meowing, I wants attention or food - usually both. It's his job to then provide that attention. But the right sort of attention. I do not want him to say 'Look at that fluffy little face!' then grab it with both hands. I do not want him to smoosh my cheeks. I do not want him to confuse me and make me do catty head shakes. I do not want him to boop me on the nose. I just want simple pats of the head, and maybe a stroke of my back and a tail scritch. Is that too much to ask?    

I has a hmmmmmnnnn.... I has ihhjiiokokk... There's socks on the window... I needs warms, because of hooman farming... I stsysiudoidjoij... Heheheheheheheh! Has anyone seen the hurple flurple durple? Where's the last biscuit tray dragon? Hooman — please get me extra usaisiuaoaspo... I loves catnip! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.