Rascal, curled up on the stove, a while after I used it, trying to soak up every last bit of warmth.
It’s a bit too cold for us warm weather Californians. I thought it was only me who disliked the cold, but my crazy cat, Rascal, has shown very low tolerance for it. He’s got a nice thick fur coat, so I don’t know what he has to complain about, but he’s even more insistent to get into my lap each and every time I sit down, even for a second.
He normally stays out of my bedroom at night, since that is Max’s territory, but the last few nights he’s been prowling around my head, forcing his way under the covers or knocking things off of the headboard to jump up to the storage space I have near the ceiling. He’s not quiet about climbing over the boxes and odds and ends up there to find a cozy warm spot up where all the heat has risen to. Then in the middle of the night, he will jump down and not only scare me half to death, but practically knock the wind out of me as he lands.
Rascal, you’re on my list. Not the good one.