He’s laying at my feet,
soft, black, and sweet.
Some scoff, he’s just a cat.
He looks at me and purrs,
and I stroke his velvet fur
as some sniff, “Isn’t he a little fat?”
But I don’t care and I don’t shift,
not even for an itch,
because I like it, where he’s at.
Even if he is, as they all say.
really,
just a cat.
Michael Seidel, writer 
Aww, I love this! I have to stop and remember that Charles is just a cat sometimes and not human. We fight, he bites, I get mad at him, then when he doesn’t come when I call, I worry. These felines are so entrenched in our hearts and souls, they aren’t just pets, they are family.
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Awwww … I can so relate. Sometimes when Ollie (the only one of our quintet who loves me) is lying contentedly in my lap, even when my legs go to sleep and pain shoots through them, I don’t budge, for I cannot bear to disturb him.
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Oh, I know that suffering in the name of love of an animal, too. I often end up typing on my knees at my desk because cats are occupying my chair.
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I blame my arthritis on my cats!
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