With four lions to guard me

Last night as soon as I was out of the shower, I made the mistake of sitting down at my computer to make a note about one of the movies I had watched earlier that evening. Autolycus hopped promptly onto my lap and refused to vacate the plentiful towel nest provided thereby. He tucked his paws underneath himself. He purred. He concentrated his weight to make himself immovable. Finally it became clear that I was either going to have to cruelly displace the cat or do something ridiculous, so I did the ridiculous thing and stood up while still hammocking him in the towel. I expected him to spring out, affronted. He was completely cool with it. I felt like some kind of Caravaggian allegory. spatch got exactly one work-safe picture, presented here as contemporary illustration of those twelfth-century cat-slave poems.

( I own it's a trifle drafty. )

I had to carry him over to the couch and hold him on a level with its cushions before he would disembark. He is such a good cat.