Every night, after she finishes her dinner, Moofa starts hovering around. She waits as I finish up the dishes. The minute she sees that I’m done, she starts with an urgent high pitch meow. She demands that I sit as she climbs onto my lap, purring away like a little motor.
She curls up contentedly and glares at Flyball if he even attempts to come near. He knows better. This is her time as much as it is mine. Nothing melts away the stresses of the day faster than snuggling with a purring cat. During those moments, it feels like everything is right with the world.
The only side effect? Scratch marks from all her darn kneading. I really need to trim those nails.