Every morning Grape the cat tries to steal my office chair. I have a fleece blanket draped over the seat, so that may be her draw, but anyway, it has become her mission in life to get this chair away from me. I'll tell you how the sneaky little thing does it.
She waits for me to sit down with my coffee and snack, like a gingerbread cookie or something, and then saunters into the room. She stops, looks at me and lifts a paw to lick—as if she hasn't really noticed me, or if she has, it isn't much to ponder on. After cleaning her paw for a moment, she makes a running leap to the computer desk. Back and forth she walks, under my nose, letting me pet her along the back. If I pet her too little, she gets annoyed. If I pet her too much, she stops and nibbles on my hand. Either way, I usually get a nibble. "Hey!" I yell, scooting back. "No biting!" Grape peers at me with mock surprise. Did I bite you? Oh, I did. Try and pet me again. BITE. "Hey!" You're a horrible petter, Amy Saia. Horrible.
I get up from the chair. I'll just leave the room and come back when little miss Grape has cooled down.
Five minutes later I come back and find her spread out across the chair, paws flexing in sublime joy. My document waits with blinking cursor, but the fear is too much.
Hello, this is Grape the kitteh. I never 'bite' Amy. I just taste her a little. Besides, she's always sitting in my chair tapping her fingers on this rectangle thingy . . . you know how it goes. A cat's gotta do what a cat's gotta do.