Your chair and your cat remind me of two separate things:
When I was in High School, I hung out with a kid that loved down the street. We were always doing something, and we were always together. We were the neighborhood punk kids (in suburbia that meant we j-walked and took an extra day to cut the grass when our Dad got on our ass.
). Like peas and carrots we were. So one day after messing around with some junk in my garage, Tony looks at me and says, "Do you think we will be friends like this when we are old ass men in wheelchairs, on oxygen, with stomas, and alzheimers?" I said, "Probably, but I'll still call you a douche, and you'll still call me a fag."
The cat reminded me of the first time I had our cat sit in my lap. We had his claws removed on his front paws, but not his rears. After a few minutes he got real peaceful and nearly fell asleep there. Then all of a sudden out of the blue, a clap of thunder erupted outside the window behind me and that little bastard dug his claws into my sac in order to get the lift-off he needed to jump up onto my head and claw the shit out of my face.
I don't miss that cat one bit.
