Let it be documented that at some point during the wee hours of the morning, my cat George laid down beside me and purred. And for ten minutes allowed me to pet him and even willingly snuggled a little bit. My cat. The cattiest of all cats, who hardly allows you to touch him, and only endures being held despite all the love I shower upon him. I was in awe. Total bliss.

Now, such sudden amiability may all have only been part of his master plan, as laying next to me in bed gave him the perfect position to reach out with one paw and nonchalantly knock over all my meds off the nightstand (my George has an OCD preference for all inanimate objects around him to be knocked over on their side or to the floor). But I won’t complain. I’m too excited over the possibility that maybe George feels some affection for me in that feline heart of his, after all. It only took two years.

Ah, victory is sweet.

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