the cat came back

My cat is sitting on the desk next to my keyboard and purring like a muted chainsaw. Eyes are just about closed leaving that small slit with which to peer out and make sure that I am not going anywhere nor enjoying anything else but her company. The end of her tail twitches, like the dismissal of a flick of the hand. She walks past my line of vision butting her head against my face. Her nose is wet. I am brushing away hairs that she has left behind. Somehow some of them seem to have got in my nose.

This is the life of a cat-owner. Feeling everyone of those 10 claws kneading your legs as your cat circles on your lap for the ultimate position. It really doesn't matter which position is chosen because your cat will have all of the room, all of the time. You will find yourself either about to fall off your bed or crunched against the wall in an effort not to squash the cat. It will happen at least once, and once it happens, it will never occur again: Your cat will wake you up mewling at the door when you are in deep sleep. You will mindlessly let the cat in. In the morning you find a dead rat with it's paws missing, somewhere in your house. It will usually be on the best carpet or on the floor next to the bed of a guest. And be covered in ants. Or bleeding. Or still partly alive.

Unfortunately, the cat cannot be denied entry, because above all it is the resident and owner of the house. It decides when it should be fed and if it should allow mere minions to pat it.

"Thousands of years ago, cats were worshipped as gods. Cats have never forgotten this."