Lennon likes to sleep on the stairs. I think this is because if he stretches out along the tread, he causes maximum inconvenience to all the humans in his vicinity. Also, because the air conditioners are upstairs, he can precisely pick his desired temperature -- he tends to stretch out more when he's sleeping on the lower stairs, and curl up into a neat ball when he's sleeping on the top one.
Anyway, he was napping on the steps, and I wandered over. He yawn-greeted me (a yawn and a meow delivered simultaneously just sound weird).
I sat down a few steps lower than he was. "Mm?" he said. "Hello, Lennon," I said.
"Agaow."
"What do you want, then?"
We had a few more uninformative exchanges, and then I rubbed his head. This seemed to be something like what he wanted; I rubbed his spine and he turned around to glare at my hand. Not door #2. I try moving my hand back up, and he rubs his cheek on it, so I scratch his cheek and shoulder.
He leans into it, leans over the edge in fact. "Lennon, you're going to fall over," I say. He blinks at me curiously. I continue rubbing; he leans. "You're going to fall over, Lennon," I repeat. "Mmmmmmmmrm?" he says, and slowly flips over the edge of the step, to land on his side on the one just up from me, leaning against my thigh and with his feet dippily waving in the air.
Cats.
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