Two a.m. and I've just had an argument with the cat over who gets to sit in the office chair. Granted, he was in it when I gave up the notion of sleeping (that's what I get for forgetting to take my benedryl tonight, now it's too late...) and wandered into the office to play on my computer, but I nicely picked him up and placed him gently onto his bed.
It's a very nice bed, too. It's a giant wicker basket with a fluffy pillow and a tiger-spotted thermal pad on it. Normally he loves his bed, but evidently not in the middle of the night when he could be getting fur all over my chair.
He was a good sport about being moved, at least I thought so. He settled into the bed and curled up, closing his eyes, but as soon as I got up to go wander into the other room for a minute (oh shut up...I had to pee) he jumped back into the chair.
I picked him back up and placed him on his bed, and before my butt cheeks had a chance to hit the chair, he was back in it. And he glared at me. As if I were in the wrong here. And damn if he didn't do it again -- I started to sit, and there he was, in all his furry glory, daring me to sit on him.
When I picked him up, I wasn't as nice. I deposited his sorry ass onto the floor and sat down as fast as I could.
Yet somehow, I don't think I won. I can see the wheels spinning in his head, evidenced by that almost-evil look in his eyes. I have a nasty feeling that he'll find a way to get his revenge.
I better check the sheets before I climb back in bed...