I don't mind when the Old Cat wants to sleep in the bed. She doesn't do it so often. We wiggle too much and it annoys her. When she does sleep with us, she curls up in the vicinity of our knees, under the blankets in cold weather, and above them when it's too warm.

The New Cat, now that's a different story. He doesn't like to sleep with us during the night. As best I can tell, he spends his time destroying the house. Last night he took a bouquet of flowers and put them in the kitchen sink. One by one, it must have been. Just carried them from the vase to the sink and dropped them in. Didn't even knock over the vase. This morning it was still standing upright; one solitary red sweet-pea remained.

By morning, he's lonely and wants hugs. (We've negotiated it to seven now, used to be around five.) He head-butts his way under the blanket and curls up against my side. I put an arm over him and hold his front feet. It's the only way to eke out a few more minutes of sleep. See, he gets excited when he gets hugs, and when he gets excited, he gets pointy.

Left unrestrained, he flexes his toes against my arm in what, to someone covered uniformly in a fur coat designed to withstand winter in a Norwegian forest, would be an affectionate sort of gesture. It hurts his feelings when I yelp and push him out of the bed.

When he is restrained, he still needs an outlet for catly ecstasy. Since he's prevented from scoring trenches in my flesh with his claws, he does the next best thing. He takes the skin of my inner arms gently between his teeth and pinches. He doesn't actually break the skin. He just pinches. And god-damn it hurts.

And then I push him out of bed. We repeat this until I finally get up and go to the shower.

He also likes hugs right after I shower. When I step out, he's sitting on the edge of the bathroom sink.

Waiting.