Well, that was . . . unexpected.
I was sitting in the recliner last night, feet up, reading one of my two current books (Darwin's Devices: What Evolving Robots Can Teach Us About the History of Life and the Future of Technology by John Long) when Bartleby suddenly decided, for no discernible reason, to be sociable. No. More than mere "sociable." She wanted to cuddle.
She started by putting her front paws up by my feet and peering over the edge of the chair. When I looked up from the book and asked, "What do you think you're doing?" she took it as an invitation and jumped onto the seat. She stood there for a moment and then started prodding my legs and, eventually, stomach trying to find the most comfortable spot.
After a brief discussion on the impropriety of "kneading" (she's very careful with her syringe-sharp claws around exposed flesh but just doesn't get the idea that there is anything sensitive under cloth) we negotiated a compromise wherein she could rest her head and shoulders on my lap as long as I cupped her front paws in my hand. My hand ended up on her chest (unlike any other cat I've known, Bartleby actually likes having her tummy rubbed) where I could feel several different layers of purring including an inaudible high-pitched vibration, a lower-end continuous rumble and two versions of the standard loud purr, one on the inhale running from the tips of my fingers to my palm and another on the exhale running the opposite way, both of which slowly diminished to nothing as she feel asleep.
We stayed like that for two hours which made continuing with the book a little difficult but I just didn't have the heart to wake her.
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