I often remind people that cats are different than humans, and we should not impute our own desires and sensibilities on the fuzzy little beasts, nor make them proxies for fulfilling wishes we wish for ourselves.
And yet this morning, I realize that I have done exactly that. I woke, with the usual crick in my lower back, the usual cramped knees that had been bent for too long, and the usual wish that with all the different standard widths, someone ought to make mattresses in a different length as well.
And I beheld my cat, peacefully snoozing in the electrically-warmed nest I got him, which is of course long enough for him to stretch out if he wishes.
Curled contentedly into a furry little ball.
My beloved fuzzy little lap warmer, sometimes I am a fool. But, all things considered, I am glad to be foolish in a way that lets you be happy rather than miserable.