Harley's favorite place in the ENTIRE house (entire: capital letters, and all) is my lap. This is a new phenomenon. I'm still debating how I feel about it. I'm not kidding. If she could be in my lap while I was standing, or walking through the house, she'd do it. It's like this cat and my lap have a cosmic connection.
Right now, as I type, her cheek is flush with my thigh, her nose smooshed into my leg just so. Her paw's extended into open air, and I half expect her to grab my hand. She is in HEAVEN. And who wouldn't be?
'Tis my lap, after all.
But apparently my lap wasn't enough. As I sat here, perusing the Internets instead of going to sleep as I should have, Harley paraded around my lap in her usual fashion.
Hello, excuse me, I belong here. Hi. Could you make room? Great, thanks. Filthy, human.
Except this time there was a tugging in my fleece. As I glanced down, I found Harley attempting to dig a hole into my fleece. She was burying herself in my pocket. The entirety of her head was in the pocket of my fleece.
She soon gave up her endeavor, and now she's wrapped in a ball looking ever-so-precious. In my lap. At my knees.
I guess it's not so bad. She makes a good lap blanket, and it appears she loves me, so I won't turn that down.
Plus I love attention. And so does she. We're perfect for each other.