I has been wandering about with many things to say today. I has meowed in my hooman's napping quarters. I has meowed on one window sill. I has meowed on the other window sill. I has meowed by the front door. I has meowed at the cupboards. I has meowed at the chairs. I has meowed at the table. I has meowed in every room. I has meowed lots of times at my hooman. He has tried to meow back, but his accent is awful and he makes too many grammatical errors. I is very chatty today.
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.
Sometimes a cat just feels like snuggling up with their hooman. Hoomans are made of warms. This happens as and when we feel like it — not all the time. Our hooman should feel privileged when we choose to snuggle with them. Last night, I left the window sill I was napping on, and, after a biiiiiiiiig stretch, I wandered over to my hooman, who was sitting on the big, long, soft chair. I sniffed him. He smelt okay. I climbed onto his legs, then onto his belly, then up onto his chest. I pushed my feets up and down a bit, then settled down into a loaf position. After some nice head strokes and ear scritches, I laid down properly on my hooman. Mmmmm — warms. I was enjoying the fuss, so I closed my eyes and had a mini-nap. All was right with the world...then my hooman moved 0.000000000000001 inches. I've never been so offended in my life. I meowed, jumped down off of him immediately, and ran into another room. Very unhappy with my hooman.
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