I woke to a soft weight on my shoulders and back, followed by a prickling as claws dug in, pressing through the fleece and the sheet.
“It’s like three a.m., cat,” I mumbled into my pillow. “I’m not getting up to feed you.”
The claws dug in, and I heard him sniffing his way up toward my head. I buried it under the blankets.
“You do not need any more food,” I said. “You’re on a diet, mister kitty. Vet’s orders.”
The snuffling reached my breathing hole and stopped. Then I heard a plaintive meow.
From over in the doorway.