There's a paw in my armpit

Sunday morning book clubAnd I have a tail mustache.

It's the middle of the night, The Kitten is fully stretched out and purring away, one hind leg lodged into my warm armpit.

Much like a dog, The Kitten expresses her delight by wagging her tail. Said tail flaps away at my face and settles repeatedly on my upper lip, reducing the distance between feline sphincter and human nose to rude proximity. 

That's The Kitten. If she likes you, she'll park her butt as close to your face as possible. 

And if she's really happy, she'll even release short bursts of happiness gas. 

The bedroom is her kingdom, the one room where she is safe from the malevolent machinations of our other cat, Senior – an ancient Russian Blue whose life mission is to kill The Kitten.

We wanted to make Senior's old days more pleasant with a little female companionship, and as far as his activity levels and digestive system are concerned, we have certainly succeeded. 

The once catatonic feline is now an apartment marathon runner and amateur opera singer, yowling at the top of his lungs for whole minutes at a time whenever he is displeased, which is often.

His is the face of frequent discontent, all squinty eyes and scrunched up forehead.

And then there's the creative use of bodily functions as weapons. 

      Aah,  I see... so you'd rather be on the phone than pet me? 

     Fine! Enjoy the loud waterfall performance live from my basket. 

     Aah, I see... so you'd rather watch a movie than feed me right this very minute?

     Fine! Barf mode is engaged and I'll projectile vomit wherever I please.

     Aah, I see... so you're only getting round to cuddling me now after you've been away for hours?

     Fine! Here's warm fruit of the butt just for you. (Yes, Senior did poop in my husband's lap once)

On that one occasion Senior jumped on the bed and landed on The Kitten, I sustained a grazed brow bone when she launched off my face towards the floor. 

Now, the two cats only cozy up to one human at a time, preferably not the same. 

In the last year, my husband had to unlock Senior's jaw from around his arm, and Senior also clawed the inside of my nostril. Our arms are living monuments to multiple displays of feline affection from both cats – The Kitten's nerves are somewhat fragile and too much love can send her in a tizzy.

But none of this matters in the middle of the night when there's a paw in my armpit. 

Early onset cat lady syndrome, anyone?


If you suffer from the same affliction, my Twitter feed is often full of cat. 

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