They’ve groomed me well

As a happy owner of five cats I’ve always known I was the cats’ slave. There is no shame in it. One has to be mature enough to acknowledge their own desires and limitations in order to admit that one’s life is better when they truly give themselves over to cat slavery.

I stopped resisting a long time ago, feeding my masters, petting them on demand, bringing snacks at the tiniest twitch of a muzzle, but lately theie cruel ownership entered new heights.

My chief mistress, Zuza, decided she will sleep in our bed, right on my pillow, and make no mistakes, when she decided this there is no going back, or around it. Gentle coaxing won’t work, not even snacks and stroking persuade her. She sits right in the middle of my pillow choosing the most prominent spot on the bed and I was relegated to squeezing myself under the cat’s arse.

You might say it could be worse but have you ever tried to sleep when suddenly your face if full of fur? God forbid you dare to move because you if you do, you get slap with cat paw. Oh, let’s not forget than when my lady wants a chin stroke, it doesn’t matter if it is 1am or 6am she will butt her head against your hand until you give in and start stroking. Then she purrs.

When a cat’s arse is resting on your head, purring sounds like some muscular man is pressing a large vibrating drill to your head and is slowly but surely drilling a hole in your skull

Yet I’m enduring it with patience and decorum because one shall not move when the cat is happy.