Heavy Petting

This is an entirely true story.  The faces of those involved have been blacked out to protect their identity.

As a recent convert to cat ownership, I am gleaning insights into cat behaviour which I find interesting, if not disturbing.

For example, one of our two (male) cats passionately makes out with me every morning. 

My normal morning routine is to sit at my desk while coffee brews in the kitchen, turn on my laptop, check email, and learn the day’s news.  As soon as I am ensconced at my work station, a cat leaps onto the desk and proceeds to make out with me in several different, amourous ways, which I’m going to detail right here in this family newspaper.

First, he butts his head into my chin.  I never realized that a sign of affection in the feline community was to gently bash one’s forehead into the chin of your paramour.  A few butts later, the cat stares soulfully into my half-asleep face and decides that a good lick of my nose is in order, and proceeds to do so. 

Several licks upon the proboscis later, he moves down to my whiskery chin for more wet attention-giving.   

Now it is time to sink his claws into my bathrobe and any exposed portions of my chest.  My (former) terry bathrobe now resembles a fur coat, such are the pulled threads from his claws.  The numerous puncture wounds to my chest look no better.

He now switches to the heavy petting stage of our encounter.  First, he rears up on his hind legs and gives the top of my head a good sniff while I get to closely examine his belly, which he conveniently places in my face. 

Then he lies down on my hands, leading me to think the passion has subsided and I can actually peer around him and check email. 

No.

He immediately gets back up, sits before me, and stares soulfully into my face again.  Then, in a fit of passion, he leans forward and smears the side of his mouth against the side of my nose.  First one side, then the other.  His smearing is, apparently, the height of his affection, since he usually saves it for last in his bag of make-out tricks.

To summarize, the sequence of our early morning affairs goes something like this:

Headbump.  Headbump.  Headbump.  Lick.  Lick.  Knead. Flop down.  Back up.  Lick.  Bump.  Smear.  Stare.  Smear.  Headbump.  Flop down.  Back up.  Knead chest with claws. Smear.  Lick.  Lick.  Bump.  Smear.  Flop down.  Back up.  Knead chest.  Stare.  Lick.  Flop down again.  Back up.  Bump.  Smear.  Lick lick.  Smear.  Smear other side.  Bump.  Lather.  Rinse.  Repeat.

All the while, I am turning my head this way and that, trying to look past his busy face to read something on the screen of my computer.  Or to possibly type something intelligible in a humour column if at all possibl%#rejtn,.scv.  Excuse me – he just sat down on my hands again as I was typing there.

I do not know if this in any way constitutes gay behaviour on his part (or mine).  Frankly, I don’t care.  We have a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy regarding these acts of passion and adolescent curiosity. 

He just won’t leave me alone.   

Being on the receiving end of these advances gives me pause, and I would like to now offer a sincere apology to all women I dated in my younger days.  I now understand what it must have been like with me, and I just want you to know I had nothing but the best of intentions. 

If I happened to head-butt you in the process, I hope it didn’t cause too much bruising.