Sir Sam-a-lot

This morning I awoke to my cat Samson pacing back and forth across my head.

Meet Samson:

I guarantee that if my hair starts thinning, it’s because my orange tabby is pulling it out. Every morning he somehow manages to press my hair into the pillow with all of his body weight. (I cringe to think where his paws have been.) My alarm clock has been quiet for ages thanks to this morning routine. Most cats, if they wake you up, do so because they’re asking for breakfast. In our case, however, half of the time Samson doesn’t need food. He needs me to show him his food. The cat will not even check his bowl without my escorting him.

Samson was my birthday present when I was 13 years old. Even though he was a kitten, I knew he would grow into his name. He’s a little skinnier now that he’s elderly. There was a time, however, when vets referred to him as the “linebacker.” He was the pudgiest, cuddliest, heaviest cat you’ve ever seen. You think I’m joking? Meet Samson’s belly:

Not convinced?

How about now?

Do to our unique bond, I was convinced that I was a cat person… Until I got dogs. And it’s not that I liked my dogs better than my cat. It’s that I realized that my cat is really a dog trapped in a cat’s body. Follow?

And in this household, Samson is the top dog. Literally. If my dog Esther is occupying my lap, Samson isn’t inclined to wait his turn. He’ll just sit right on top of her. And I remember when Beauregard, our other basset hound, first met our cat. Beau cautiously inched closer and closer until they sniffed each other, nose to nose. I’m still not sure what Beau sniffed that day, but he then timidly backed up and avoided all eye contact with Samson for the rest of the night.

Consider yourself warned.