cat butt

I had to get myself a clean cup for my coffee after N-Cat sat on the first one when he climbed up onto the table next to the recliner to say hi to me this morning. He’s especially good at putting his butt on things that nobody’s butt should be on, like, for instance, my face. On the list of things that will wake you up like an electric shock at three o’clock in the morning and keep you awake for the rest of the night, a cat’s butt on your face is right up there at the top. To be absolutely fair, he’s usually not trying to plant his butt on my face when he does. He’s usually trying to cozy up to My Darling B, and I happen to be in the way. N-Cat tends to walk over, jump across or sit on anything that’s in his way.

Take this morning: I was reading the Sunday paper, which I had spread out on my lap, across the arms of the chair, and on top of the table, when N-Cat decided to jump up and say hi. He jumped up on the pile of newspaper at my side, assuming it was a solid landing pad when actually it was a flimsy pile of newspaper spread across the gap between the arm of the recliner and the table next to it, and when he sank down into the gap, dumping my newspaper all over the floor, he scrambled through the various and sundry items on the table — my eyeglasses, my phone, a stack of coasters — as he struggled not to fall, scattering most of the items around or off the table. On the up side, he made enough room for him to sit, which he ignored, sitting instead on the rim of my coffee cup as he looked at me with a somewhat sad expression, as if he was disappointed that I put the cup in exactly the spot where he wanted to sit.

The ten-second rule doesn’t apply to coffee cups that have been kissed by a cat’s butt, so I extracted it from under his hind parts and took it to the kitchen, dumped the coffee down the drain and got myself a clean cup. That cup has not left my hands.

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