Gwenny sits at the foot of my desk chair and speaks to me. “Me!” she says. “Now!”

“Come on up,” I tell her, and pat my lap invitingly, just so that she’s clear on the concept.

She puts her front paws onto the chair and considers the offered lap. It looks good. “Me!” she asserts, and she jumps up.

Gwenny circles my lap and settles down facing me. I touch her, and she purrs. She likes it when I touch her. This is fortunate. Gwenny is a Russian Blue cat, and there is nothing on this planet that feels remotely as good as just digging my fingers into her fur. Especially the area under her ears at the back of her cheeks. It feels like velvet would feel if it were longer and plusher and softer. It feels like butter. If there is such a thing as heaven, this is exactly the feeling that would be awarded to saintly fingers. I am so lucky.

Gwenny settles down to sleep in my lap. Sleep makes her heavy. My legs start to ache. But every once in a while I touch the soft fur of her neck, and I am rewarded with a slight subsonic purr. Her toes curl in pleasure in her sleep.

My legs are starting to get numb. I really have to stand up.

But I can’t.