I love being massaged. It's one of the four things I require to live a life of comfort:
--Talk to me
This morning I meowed as shrilly and loudly as I could until I got someone's attention. The reward was a nice long massage. Unfortunately, I ended up getting static from it, but it was definitely worth it.
Mom says I'm a princess, but this other human she talks to a lot (she really cuts into my massage time), Faythe, says I'm a diva. What's the difference anyway? Does it really matter as long as I get attention, plenty of choice food and the #1 Sleeping Spot in the house?
Listen, I am a beautiful, shiney, nubian feline of the female persuasion. I demand respect. And I demand attention. Now I have to admit, I'm scared of a lot of things. A knock at the door. A shoe that suddenly appears where it wasn't yesterday. A plastic bag that makes noise. Or a foot that touches me when I walk by. Yes it's true, I have fragile, sensitive nerves that react with a limber if not taut spring into the air. Simba even called me a "Scaredy Cat" once! Mom thinks it may have something to do with having a feral momma for the first month of my life or being abandoned by a cruel human in a city alley at the tenderest of years. The background of my infancy is still a mystery to everyone so we really don't know why I am a delicate and nervous kitty.
All I know is if I have approved of you, after coming out of hiding of course, and have decided to grace you with my presence, I expect attention. And a lot of it. Just don't make any sudden moves.
I may have to resort to the loud bitchy meow again after the static wears off. I need another massage after all this typing.