The Insidious Submissive Fluffy Belly Enticement Snare- or- Pavlov's Human

"Gotcha!" The claws and fangs coming at my poor, slow fingers proved once again that felis domesticus was the far, far superior intellect in this situation.

For years, the fluffy black neighbor cat-- dubbed by me, without a molecule of creativity whatsoever, as "Miss Kitty" -- had been coming over to visit, and "help" me garden. In addition to sitting on my back porch and making herself really comfortable on my cushions (as captured in-the-act here), her other modus operandi was rubbing up against my legs, purring like a Craftsman chainsaw, and then rolling over at my feet...

There, she would begin her nefarious ploy.

Upturned to me would be this very furry and soft-looking stomach, her paws tilted demurely, compliant, waiting for an affectionate scratch from the human-type-person who I genuinely like to believe she called "friend."

And despite my better judgment-- despite consequences that had occurred time and time again-- despite the howling pain and sense of deep mortal shame-- despite all this....

I would find my hand unable to resist the tractor-beam pull of this insidious trap-- reaching with blind, renewed optimism each time, to give an affectionate scratch to that fur and--

SSSSHHIIIING!

CHOMP!

Miss Kitty would go all ninja on me-- whip out the kind of claws Freddy Krueger would be totally showing off to the other serial killers, latch on to my limb and try to sink her teeth into my loving hand.

In the time of our acquaintance I would say this whole scene happened, oh....

More times than Gary Coleman has said, "Whatchu talkin' 'bout, Willis?"

I would withdraw my hand in dumb shock and scold her, and Miss Kitty would look with wide yellow-green eyes, surprised that I hadn't been as overjoyed as she was with this particular portion of our visit. Then proceed to purr all over me again.

This was our friendship, and I took it. If I ever get married, apparently just chalk me up as a terrific candidate for future spousal abuse. I don't get it.

But over the winter some time, Miss Kitty (who I believe was a rather old dame, though a true lady never tells her age) seems to have passed away. No more did I hear her familiar greeting. No more did I get a bat of the pantleg while I pruned the roses. I missed her presence-- even the part of it with the nasty, big, pointy teeth.

So as I was out gardening this year, along came Gray Cat.

(I spent HOURS thinking up that name, I hope you all appreciate my efforts!)

And Gray Cat likes to help me garden...

(read: lay directly in any dirt I just raked)...

She likes to help me weed...

(read: stalks any vine I pull up and attacks it like she's a tiger, and it's a boa constrictor)

And Gray Cat also likes to lay down on the ground at my feet, exposing her furry belly.

What's more, SHE has a fully-operational tractor beam stomach, as well!

So, the first time she does this, I am at least AWARE of this very familiar and potentially painful experience. But, see, the tractor beam's on, and I am powerless--POWERLESS, I tell you!-- to stop myself.

So I reach down, twiddle my fingers in her velvety gray fur and... She grabs my hand with the soft pads of her paws...

And begins to lick my fingers.

I hadn't even been touching food or anything before this.

It's baffling.

And here's the thing-- while I certainly do miss Miss Kitty, Gray Cat is pretty quickly winning me over. I mean, sandpapery cat-tongue and all, I still think it's an upgrade on my past Human-Feline relations. At least from an injury standpoint.

Of course, she could just be luring me in with the gentle, loving pet routine, in preparation for something really big.

I imagine by the end of the month, Gray Cat and an entire feline hoard will have taken over the yard and I'll merely be a bipedal puppet in their devilish quest to take over the world.

This is how it starts, you know. So, um, in the coming weeks... if the blog begins to dwell overly on say, reviews of Meow Mix? Fund-raising for the ASPCA? And has a new streaming audio soundtrack from "Cats"? Please do me a favor and call the local cops to come check on me...

Tell them they're going to need catnip bombs and string.

Lots of string.

--------------------------------------------------
Humor-blogs almost never needs a lint brush for all the shedding.