You guise know Floyd. He's my furry butthole babby, and I love him tons. Floyd has a new trick!
His big sister, Norma, is a notoriously persnickety cat, and will only cuddle certain ways, at certain times, in certain spots. She loves curling up in front of my face when I'm laying down on the bed playing with the iPad, and sometimes I'll lift a corner of the blanket for her to crawl under. We call it Kitty Cave, because like most pet owners, our speech goes stupid when the cats are involved.
Yesterday, Floyd jumped up on the bed to fluff my pillow—he provides excellent turndown service. He stared at me, and I wasn't sure what he wanted, but he seemed fidgety, which often indicates that he's cold or uncomfortable somehow. I lifted up the corner of the blanket, and his already enormous eyes got even wider. He crawled under, dug around for a while, and then started purring like a two-stroke engine.
Later on, as I was starting to fall asleep, he jumped on the bed again and started rooting around in the blanket, headbutting my back in the process. When I lifted the blanket, again he shot underneath and purred loudly. He cuddled next to me for several hours, asleep against my side with my hand on his back.
Evidently, my comforter is now the designated cat tent. I am okay with this.