Ira

I used to have a stray cat I adopted whom I named Ira. He wasn't so much your jumpy active fighter. His big thing was the battle of wills.

I'd be sitting on my dingy couch and he'd come over, and I'd pet him, and he'd be cool for a while, all purring and stretching and stuff. Then after a few minutes he'd abruptly Linda Blair his head around and chomp down on my hand. Then after a little batting and biting he'd fasten his teeth in the back of my hand and hold on. At this point I'd lift my hand up off the couch and hang him in the air so his butt was about a half inch off the rug. He'd look at me and say

I'll bet that's uncomfortable
isn't it
I myself am enjoying myself
I can do this all day

and I'd look at him and say

Ira dear
you're a fairly light animal
but
you're literally hanging by your teeth
you know all this is up to you
let go and it's only a one inch drop
when will you reconsider?
when will you concede

and he'd say

later
much much later
if ever at all