Esmerelda Weatherwax wrote:
About 25 years ago, I was working in Europe, and had moved there with my cats (a brown tabby boy, a red tabby girl, a tortie; the tabbies gone in 2000, the tortie in 2005; I have their ashes and they'll be ashed again along with me someday).
I went back to the States for 2 weeks (had wonderful catsitters, a man and wife), and the return to Europe was really messed up with delays and re-scheduled flights and ugh. So I got home at a hideous hour, hugged my fuzz balls, fell on the bed fully dressed and was out like a light.
Woke up thinking I'd had a stroke. Couldn't move my right arm, couldn't lift my head.
Turned out that my brown tabby boy was hanging onto my arm for dear life, with his back feet braced along my elbow and his head in my hand and both front paws holding my wrist. And the reason I couldn't lift my head was that the tortie was firmly bedded down in my (very long) hair. The red tabby girl was resting her head on one of my ankles, bedded down between them, but I hadn't noticed her yet - as soon as I realized what was going on I dislodged everyone else carefully then found her there.
I was escorted everywhere inside that maisonette for at least a week. Never left for more than a week after that.
That's very sweet. About two weeks after my roommate moved out, I woke up to find my cat, who previously either slept at the end of my roommate's bed, or next to my legs, had tightly wedged himself between my head and shoulders, up against the back of my neck on my pillow....I guess he was feeling a little insecure and was afraid I would disappear as well.