Prowler loves me, I am her goddess, and she loves to hold my hand. If I’m sitting on the couch reading or playing with the iPad, she crowds all up on me and tries to grip my hand to her chest so she can lick and gnaw at it. At bedtime, her spot is next to my pillow, and my hand must be available for her to cling to, lay on and gnaw. Sometimes she forgets about how much is too much claw and teeth and I have to take my hand away and hide it under the cover. Then she’ll sit up and stare intently under the covers and poke poke poke my shoulder with a paw until “her” hand comes back. Sigh. So cute, so adorable, so…annoying.
(Pic not available right now, something going on with Imgur)
My now deceased cat Crow was the king of being utterly endearing yet having insanely irritating behaviors. The #1 was trying to nurse on me. It usually happened about 3-4 AM. If I happened to have a nipple uncovered that would be his first choice. Usually accompanied by a really intense kneading. He pretty much took kneading to insane levels. I’ve been told that it’s common with kittens that are weaned too soon. If he couldn’t get to a nip, his second choice was my eyebrow! WTF? That’ll wake you up in a hurry. I could toss him off the bed twenty times and he’d pop right back and attempt to pick up where he left off. I kept a spray bottle of water hanging on the headboard. After a while it got to where I only had to get the bottle in my hand and he’d settle down. I got him when he was a tiny ball of fluff and he kept that up for about ten of our fourteen years together.
He was also a dedicated tester of gravity. He loved to push things off of counters, tables, anywhere you could leave something that he could push off, just to see if gravity was still working.
We bought a sofa 10 years ago that was said to be cat proof. Every evening since then Kiko has finished his dinner and strolled over to the sofa to sink his claws into it. He always gets one claw hopelessly stuck and I have to get up and help him get it out. Idiot cat.
Oh, yeah, my cat has a thing for supervising cable repairmen. One of my parents’ cats will run and hide for the rest of the day and the other is totally indifferent, but mine comes out and sits a couple feet away from the cable guy and meows at him and watches while he works. She was a big fan of the Time Warner guy in particular. I gather this must not happen too often, because the repairmen always look quite surprised and bemused when she arrives to sit next to their tools and supervise. Thankfully, they’ve always been kind and tolerant of her presence.
One time we had a bald cable guy, and as he was bent over working on stuff, my cat Clarice climbed up his back, sat on his shoulder, and began to lick his head.
Fortunately, he was a good sport about the whole thing.
Storm would let me know that it was time for bed by putting her claws into my thigh or buttocks. It’s now just another thing I miss about her.
The new kitty, Ginger, adapted to the bed, waiting for me to go before she grabs her spot. She likes to find somewhere on top of the covers and hold them down. She also followed Storm 's habit of wanting to be in the bathroom to be pet when I’m in there.
It’s been just over a month now, but I still feel Storm’s presence here. I’ll never forget her.
Q’itih is a kneader, like most cats. For some reason, when she wants to eat in the middle of the night, she wants company. So she jumps up on the bed, and starts in with the kneading. Toss her off, she waits until you’re juuuuust falling back to sleep, then jumps up again. Rinse, repeat. One of us usually just gives up, and goes to take a leak, which satisfies her apparent requirement for an escort to the food bowl. If we lock her out of the BR, she’ll mew and trill and scratch at the door (singing the death song of her people), so that’s not a solution. I’m thinking of keeping my guitar next to the bed. She always runs when I first pluck a string.
Purchased a set of stairs this weekend to see if that would help. He can get up on them but not back down but that is half the battle! At least I can go back to sleep once he is out doing his business. THANKS for the idea!
My cat has learned that my bedroom door doesn’t need to be opened via the knob but can simply be pushed open when he hurls his body against it. He is strong enough to push the door open even when a full laundry basket has been shoved up against it. He has decided that 4:30 in the morning is a good time to scare me awake with a loud bang (of hurled cat body meeting door), crack (of door latch snapping out of the jamb), and mrrrrroww?? (his way of saying, “Hi, can I come in? Thanks in advance.”).
Love your cat’s name, ChefGuy! Not all cats are born kneaders, though – my little Nikki never did it, until about a year or so ago. She was walking across a blanket that was draped over the back of the couch, and I could almost see the light bulb in her dim little skull. She still looks at her paws to this day when she’s kneading, and I swear she’s thinking “Left paw, right paw. Left paw, right paw. Right – aw, dammit!”
Irritating? Let’s see: I just moved into an apt. with installed wall-to-wall carpeting. Or at least, that’s what I call it. Nikki refers to it as “toilet paper” and/or “the world’s biggest scritchy post.”
In the evenings if I’m sitting on the couch watching a movie or reading, our cat Dewey will climb up onto my chest and proceed to groom my beard, all the while purring like he’s mainlining catnip.
He also has a habit of leaping onto your back if you’re bending over, walking along your spine and looking down over your shoulder at what you are doing - usually filling his food bowl.
Jack is not a cuddler. He will lie down near me, but only on the floor. He will not sleep on the bed with me, but sometimes on the floor beside me or sometimes in the hallway in the doorway. But if I’m on the computer and stand up, for any reason, he will run as fast as his kitty legs will take him, towards the bathroom. For some reason he thinks I’m going to the bathroom every time I stand up. That’s where his food bowl is, and he’ll go in there but WILL NOT EAT until I point out where his food is. It’s like he forgets he has food unless I point at it.
My previous cat, Max, was a lover. He was almost 19 when he finally died. But every night when I came home from work, he would run to the back door and greet me, and cry until I picked him up so he could suck on my earlobe.
LOL my Maine Coon does the slinky swivel between my feet as I heed his command for more food nearly tripping me up every time. Of course the existing food is ten minutes old and clearly needs refreshing.
But he is a lovely laid-back cat and I forgive him. Still, he is dumb as a bag of hammers compared with my Siamese who has sadly passed on. I got quite used to a wonderful cat who had conversation.
Shew chewing. I thought I had my dachshund Nathan trained out of chewing, he’s almost four years old. But just last night I forgot, for the first time in a while. to put up my workshoes out of reach. Today I need to go buy a new pair of expensive work shoes.
This is past tense, as the cat in question is long-gone.
We had one who, despite his considerable size, was a big baby…timorous might be the best description for him. Still, he was very sweet and affectionate.
But the one thing he would do that drove me crazy was this: if you were walking through the house and he was in your path, instead of just going off to the side and getting out of the way, he would back up. In other words, he would remain directly in your path until your speed exceeded his…then you’d end up tripping over him.
Inevitably, swearing would ensue, and he would cower. Happened time and time again.
Jez has started demanding to lay pretty much where my feet and legs need to go on the bed, which makes sleeping go something like reach down and move the cat, listen to her complain, put her at the head of the bed and fall asleep. Wake up in the middle of the night to go pee, get back to the bed and reach down, move the damned cat and go back to sleep, and wake up from a dream where I was caught in a landslide pinning me down to find the cat across my legs again, bitch the cat out, move her to the desk chair and go back to sleep, lather, rinse, repeat. I swear I am going to start putting her on mrAru’s head.
Not all cats are born kneaders, though – my little Nikki never did it, until about a year or so ago. She was walking across a blanket that was draped over the back of the couch, and I could almost see the light bulb in her dim little skull. She still looks at her paws to this day when she’s kneading, and I swear she’s thinking “Left paw, right paw. Left paw, right paw. Right – aw, dammit!”