There is no one needier than my Seneca.
He rubs against my leg. No reaction. I’m typing.
He reaches high with neat, soft paws, patting my elbow. No reaction. He pokes again, and then slowly the claws come out; he snags my sweater, and intentionally pulls a thread loose.
“No!” I attempt to push him away, but he slips under my hand, expertly deflecting my motion into a caress. No cat has ever been this soft, his green eyes blink slowly at me. No cat has ever been so necessary. No cat so patient.
No cat fights dirtier. He reaches up again, this time with both paws, drumming wildly on my arm. He stretches up until he is almost stroking my cheek. I look at his perfect face; the emeralds dilate slightly, and he is such a sweet little kitten again, just look at him! I start to pick him up and he leaps onto my shoulder, his tail wrapping around my neck. Seneca needs this, yes, he does.