Sixxten fights with cute. And fragrant cuddliness.
I come home after work, pick up the cat, and notice that he smells like a blossoming meadow. What is this? Has he invented some sort of cat perfume? Has he raised his cute levels so much that he just emanates smells that will force you to smell his tummy? What is his agenda, exactly?
Turns out he’s been stationed in our wash basket, filled with clean laundry. The soft lid was secured on top. He was peeking out as Jed walked by, looking for him. Like a little cat soldier peeking out of a pillbox bunker, thus staying hidden and ensuring to exert a bouquet of fluffy, clean laundered kitty for the rest of the day.
Another trick is to sleep on my office chair. That means that whenever I want to sit down to use my computer, I have to pick him up (him with an innocent, sleepy, slightly confused kittenish face), smell his tummy, put him on my lap and cuddle him. Thus not being able to type, or game, or anything else non-important to cat creatures. It’s a cuddle trap, I tell you. And I’m gullible.