What a luxury a cat is, the moments of shocking and startling pleasure in a day, the feel of the beast, the soft sleekness under your palm, the warmth when you wake on a cold night, the grace and charm even in a quite ordinary workaday puss. Cat walks across your room, and in that lonely stalk you see leopard or even panther, or it turns its head to acknowledge you and the yellow blaze of those eyes tells you what an exotic visitor you have here, in this household friend, the cat who purrs as you stroke, or rub his chin, or scratch his head.

Somebody needs to pet me, and I guess that somebody is me. My cat is busy sleeping.

On the wicker chair the cat lazily raised its head. Meeting my gaze, it got up, padded across the floor and jumped onto my lap. I got rid of the orange peel, which the cat hated. “You can lie here for a bit,” I said, stroking it. “You can. But not all night, you know. I’m going to bed soon.” It began to purr as it curled up on me. Its head sank slowly, resting on one paw, and its eyes, which first had closed with pleasure, were closed in sleep within seconds. “It’s all right for some,” I said.

I believe cats to be spirits come to earth. A cat, I am sure, could walk on a cloud without coming through.

Dear cat, your ears are flipped inside out, so I know you’re not listening to a word I’m not saying.

A black cat among roses,
phlox, lilac-misted under a quarter moon,
the sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock. The garden is very still.
It is dazed with moonlight,
contented with perfume...

Cats are connoisseurs of comfort.

Romantically speaking, the idea of lovers experiencing the ultimate orgasmic rapture while floating in zero gravity is a metaphor.

Cats like to cuddle more than any other living creature, including zombies, which are only half dead.

The cat does not merely experience contentment, he exudes it. You cannot be in the presence of a contented cat and not have some of that contentment rub off on you. Which surely is a good part of the reason we love cats so.

Far in the stillness a cat
Languishes loudly. A cinder Falls, and the shadows Lurch to the leap of the flame.

Pet a cat when you encounter one on the street.

A cat doesn't caress us, it caresses itself on us.

There's nothing more egocentric than a cat.