The Best Part of Waking Up?

I like to say I caught him in a yawn, but it could be that he was really laughing at me.

This is Hamlet. Since April, when my sweet EmmyLou (his big "sister") passed away due to liver failure, Hamlet has become my four-legged shadow.  He follows me to the kitchen, to the bathroom, and pretty much all over the house.  But, if he had his little feline way, I would never get up from my usual perch on the couch.  When I am not there, with my legs curled under me and my feet sticking out to the left so that he can sleep on them, he yells at me.  Perhaps the better phraseology would be to say that he "meows insistently" until I do what he wants once again.

I suppose the worst part of Hamlet's day comes every morning when I have to get dressed for work.  Then, he pouts.  When I turn off my alarm, he jumps down from sleeping on my outstretched arm and runs to hide under the guest bed, where he remains until the whole family leaves.  However, some mornings, like yesterday, he refuses to give up easily.

Yesterday, when I turned off my alarm, instead of the usual "ka-thump" of a petulant kitty cat, I heard a very sweet meow with a purr in it.  I opened my eyes to see Hamlet's face in mine.  He licked my chin.  I told him, "You're very sweet, but I still have to get up."  He gave me another "kiss," purred more loudly, and stuck his nose on mine; I laughed at this, and said, "Come on..."  Finally, I saw a certain look come over his face.  I know this look, so I told him, "Don't you dare bite me."  He licked my chin one more time, gave it a sharp love bite, and then took off before I could chunk him off the bed.

I suppose it's true - sometimes love hurts.