First thing in the morning, the lap belongs to Fisher. I had to be sneaky to get this one. Any sign of being disturbed, another cat enters the room for example, and he disappears. He's not a fan of cameras. And if I so much as jostle him, he rockets across the room like he's been electrocuted.
And every evening, like clockwork, my lap belongs to Faith, who isn't bothered by much of anything, and pretty much ignores even Evan jumping up beside us for pets. Even my attempts to get up are met with that matchless cat lethargy where she moves in s.l.o.w motion to the other couch cushion and promptly sits in my warm spot the minute it becomes available.
Ironically, the cuddliest cat in the house, Bruiser, is not a lap cat. He waits until bedtime.
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