And as much as I positively adore him, he has his fair share of irritating habits. He's a little mischievous--as most cats are--and has a meow that mimics the sound of a dying stork while every individual feather is plucked from it's body by a small child with poor upper-body strength. So there's that. But, by far, the most frustrating of his traits is his incessant need to cuddle with the human face.
Legs? No thanks. Arms? Nah, not for him. The small of your back or into your bossom? LOLNICETRY. Bernard only finds cuddling suitable when he can be as embedded in your cheeks as possible. And while it's not necessarily uncomfortable that he demands to eskimo kiss throughout the night, it's his front claws that make him so unbearable. When he's nice and relaxed, finally found a great spot to smother you with his belly, he flexes his claws in and out, tenderizing your face for his eventual violent departure. The poor thing doesn't mean to. But because he sleeps with his four little scythes plunged into your face skin, he inadvertently takes strips of human countenance with every loud noise or sudden waking.
|Halo and wings cropped out.|
Ah, the joys of a silly little kitty. It's just so hard to stay mad when he sends you things like this from your roommate's phone.