Truman isn’t a particularly cuddly cat. He has his own way of ritualizing his expressions of appreciation: every morning when I come out of the bedroom to great him he stands on his back paws and leans his front paws against my waist, without claws, but as if I was a scratching post. When I walk from my home office to the kitchen he jumps out from behind something and plants both paws against my leg and then runs, as if to say, “c’mon Dad, let’s play!”
Once in a while he’ll have his moments where he’ll give me a boop or a nudge to let me know he cares.
But pick him up? Nah, that’ll be four treats for five seconds, please.
