The other morning, I woke up to find my cat lying on my head.
Not by my head. Not on my pillow-but-not-quite-on-my-head.
On my head.
I believe this is because I pushed my pillow too far over to the right, where his designated corner of the week is (it changes on time of day, type of day, his mood, the position of the moon --- not really, but I don't understand cat logic, even if it is Diego), and he decided that he simply was not going to have any of that.
So he curled up, plopped down, and proceded to fall asleep while lying of my head.
I sat there, smothered by his fur, for a few minutes, trying to figure out how I slept through this development. How did the fact that twenty pounds of warm, fluffy, fat was suddenly pressed against my head not wake me up? I still do not know.
Then I realized, hey man, you're a cat. I'm a human. I've got opposible thumbs, you use a liter box.
Get off my face, fool.
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