And that’s why David needs to wear a cup at home….
WARNING: There are inferred epithets in this post.
“HOLY $*&! MOTHER – &@%!%# JESUS! “
After dinner, on the nights when we’re not over-programmed to the nth degree – David likes to change into his pj pants and a nice warm sweater. We’ll snuggle in on the family room sofa and he’ll either read or work on his laptop or we’ll watch TV.
Our cats, it seems, have pre-cognition. As soon as David’s pajama’d lap becomes available – all three of them appear. Never when he’s in jeans. It’s like the sound of him sitting in the cotton jersey has special appeal.
Minuit is usually the first up. She hefts herself on to the couch and starts kneading his leg. David will absently pat her on the head. This is when she either a) begins to feel a little amorous herself and wants to reciprocate or b) has a mean streak in her. Her paws move to David’s groinal region and she’ll invariably locate his balls. At 15 lbs, Minuit provides a fair amount of weight behind her palpation of his, uh… boys…
“MINUIT! NO! NO! #$*&-SUCKING FELINE!!”
“I think, for accuracy’s sake that should be #$*&-PRODDING feline, hon. The other just goes way over the line into bestiality.”
If he has patience, Minuit ends up thrust onto my lap where I have no external organs to be damaged. If he doesn’t have patience, she may wind up testing the “Do cats always land on their feet?” theory. On a really good night, say after Minuit has conferred with her furry siblings, there will be a parade of pussy cats all wanting to enjoy the thrills of David’s lap. Maybe it’s like their own version of A Night of Living Dangerously.
“I need a cup to watch TV.”
“Maybe if you’re good, you’ll get one for Christmas.”
