I Want a Lap Cat

I want a lap cat. Forget that I rarely have a lap! I know that I rarely sit down and when I do, I have a lap full of kids, or crafts, or beads, or computers. But on those rare occasions when I do sit down and my lap is empty, I'd like it to be full of cat. Fuzzy, soft, purring, happy, snuggly cat.

But you have a cat, you're saying.

Yes. Yes I do have a cat. And the whole purpose of a cat is so that you have something to warm your lap on cold evenings. But no. Not this cat. She wants nothing - absolutely nothing - to do with laps. Occasionally, when we pick her up and put her on our laps, she will sit quietly and submit to petting for about, oh, 6 seconds. Sometimes, if we hold on real tight, we can get her to stay there for maybe 8 or 9 seconds. But eventually the claws come out and it's all over. Even if we could hold on longer, once the claws come out who wants to?

I used to think that she liked us - I mean - she is almost always in the same room as us. And if we get up and move to another room she follows. But now I think she is just keeping tabs on us. She wants to know where we are at all times. If she can see us, she knows we aren't doing anything she wouldn't approve of. (What that would be I have no idea.) Or more likely, if she knows where we are, she knows what we're doing and that lessens the chance of her missing out on her fair share of Redi-Whip or butter.

In any case, despite my attempts I don't think she will ever be a lap cat. That's just a little too close for comfort. (The cat's comfort of course - nothing else matters).

Fine! Be that way. But you know what? Ha ha! I have a guinea pig. She'd make an excellent lap pig! She doesn't purr, but she does rumble when when you pet her fur the wrong way and she's warm. That'll do (pig).

Quack!