#a purrito

[cat-cosplay]

When Dad won't let you touch the thermostat

[catfindr]

[89cats]

(by kojikoji_jikojiko)

[zig-zag1]

Purrito.

[lousydrawingsforgoodpeople]

[miksy-the-51st]

Have a nice God Cat Purrito!

[canisalbus]

Hi !

Related to the person who's a vet assistant and told you about the burger hold technique.

I have another funny one to share as a vet student, which is the burrito technique (that's the name we learn for real) which consist of wrapping (mostly cats or small dogs) in a towel to keep just their head outside so they can't scratch us.

Now I can't stop imagining Machete in a burrito hold with the same annoyed look cats give us when we do that. I think it's very funny.

To illustrate my point, here's a cat in a burrito hold when we trained about that technique.

.

[dovewingkinnie]

cat daughter

[stormbreaker-290]

Little guys :D

OUAUA

UHAGGSHS

OFUDHDHF

EUHDJD

L

LIDDLE GUYS!!!!!!!!!

I M GONNA CRYUR THEYR SO CUTE MSHSJDG

OUHGFHDHDHGGHHSHGD

*MELTS*

[neopets-smash-or-pass]

Nyx purrito

[notallsandmen]

Blanket Permission

For @academicblorbo and @quillingwords ❤️

Now with amazing art by @quillingwords

***

I knew I should have had him neutered in 1589, Hob thought blearily, having just been yanked from a very pleasant dream and unceremoniously deposited in a mudpuddle outside the Gates of Horn and Ivory. It was apparently monsoon season in the Dreaming again — no thunderclouds this time, but the kind of thick mist of rain that seeped into your bones.

Ah. Right. He should have suspected as much.

Hob hadn’t seen or heard from Morpheus in two weeks, which wasn’t unusual. There had been some kind of diplomatic incident surrounding Thor — who was apparently a) a real, existing god, and b) an absolute moron and a sex pest harrassing all pantheons. Somehow, the latter part made it slightly easier for Hob to not descend into complete existential panic about the whole “gods are real and vaguely beneath me” bombshell Morpheus had casually dropped on him, with the disinterested tone of someone commenting on a disappointing nephew. Every academic institution had their own seemingly unfireable sex pest, so this was at least something Hob could wrap his brain around. But now, the situation had escalated into some kind of divine, eons overdue #metoo movement, and Morpheus had been asked to mediate.

(This was honestly a little rich, given Morpheus’s somewhat checkered romantic past. But, after rescuing Calliope and releasing Nada from Hell, Morpheus was at least showing a willingness to make amends, and that was a step in the right direction.)

So, when his spouse went AWOL for a few weeks, Hob didn’t worry too much.

But Morpheus’s communication style still left a lot to be desired. One recurring and particularly annoying habit was Morpheus’s passive-aggressive tendency to pluck a sleeping Hob from his dreamscape and then drop him somewhere in the Dreaming, forcing Hob to come to him, as if this was some spontaneous lunch-time visit to deliver a coffee order and a snog. Don’t get him wrong — it was bloody adorable, and Hob would do it all the time if he could, but staging this elaborate dance every time instead of just asking him for some loving attention was honestly getting a little ridiculous.

Hob could smell Mervyn’s cigar smoke before he even saw him, giving him a jaunty wave.

“How’s it going?”

“He’s that way,” Mervyn grumbled in response, not even looking up from his moat-digging, nodding his head in the direction of the balcony next to Morpheus’s private chambers.

“Cheers, mate,” Hob said, before sauntering off to collect his sulking paramour in Sulk Zone 1.

But Hob wasn’t quite ready for the sight that met him; an aching tenderness swelling in his throat to the point that he was left a little breathless.

Oh dear. Hob should have known.

Because there on the balcony sat Morpheus, in his cat form. It wasn’t even his majestic ”King of Cats” form, but a scrawny little thing: fur flattened and soaked by the rain, crouching on top of his paws, his tail twitching anxiously, making clipped, pitiful noises that indicated that he was choking down a yowl.

It was heartbreaking, and just a little bit pathetic, and Hob was taken aback by how forcefully he needed to scoop Morpheus up and hold him.

Whenever he turned up at The New Inn or Hob’s flat like this, it usually meant that Morpheus was feeling a little overwhelmed. He would curl up in Hob’s lap, magnanimously allowing himself to be petted until his frantic, self-soothing purring quieted into that of cozy contentment.

However, Hob had never seen Morpheus in his cat form in the Dreaming, before. Maintaining authority, keeping up appearances, and all that — even if Morpheus’s mood swings was probably the poorest kept secret in the realm.

Hob crouched down, reaching out his hand to carefully stir Morpheus from his woe-is-me introspection.

“Hello, darling. Feeling tiny, this morning?”

The sheer force of the needy headbonk against his knuckles was all the answer he needed.

He gazed into the huge, icy-blue eyes: Morpheus’s cat form was pretty much his only non-weepy one, but he knew that the wide-eyed tension around the eyes was the feline equivalent of tear-swollen lids.

Soon, thankfully, something soft swept over his eyes, until Morpheus was slow-blinking affectionally back at Hob.

“There we are, sweetheart. There we are.”

Right. It might be a little bit demeaning, given that they were in the Dreaming — but Hob knew that none of Morpheus’s subjects would dare disturb them, until Morpheus was ready to be seen.

And desperate times called for desperate measures.

Hob closed his eyes, focusing his mind the way Morpheus had taught him. When he opened his eyes again, he was holding a dreamstuff facsimile of the fluffy Starry Night blanket he had purchased from the giftshop after a Van Gogh exhibit, to be used for situations just like these.

Morpheus deflated somewhat, before giving him an obliging nod — a royal edict allowing Hob to tenderly wrap the blanket around him and lift him up, folding it until Morpheus was completely swaddled.

Purrito of the Endless, he thought, biting his lip so as not to show a treasonous smile.

Morpheus melted into his arms with a rumbling purr, kneading his paws into the cloudlike fabric, rubbing his cheek against the palm of Hob’s hand.

After a few seconds, he looked back up at Hob, tilting his head with a tentative, enquiring chirp.

Will you stay?

“Always, my love. I’ll always take care of you. Whatever you need.”

[bizarre-blues]

Team Friendship (and Death)!

[badger-with-a-boa]

Loafie purrito

[lilidawnonthemoon]

[samirafee]

#MAJA🐱🤎PURRITO🤎🐾

@samirafee

[brotatowho-blog]