There I was, minding my own business as I cooked up a batch of rice and broccoli. Suddenly, the most godawful squealing and squalling erupted from the love seat. I looked over the counter and saw this thing rolling and stretching at me like a furry little Venus:
Normally, when Dad is in the kitchen, that means SOMETHING is being made that involves cheese. Stanley LOVES cheese. The fact that I had failed to get out said dairy product was deeply distressing, so the cat whored himself out as cutely as possible to try to encourage me to give in. He was rolling so much I couldn’t get a good pic, but you get the idea.
I could be making a bowl of cereal and I’d still get the damn cheese out for that chunky monster when he cutes at me.