On a recent visit to my doctor, she noticed a bunch of scratch marks on my legs, down near my ankles, and said she could prescribe me some cream for my itchy, dry skin.

I told her there’d be no need for such creams and ointments, for I had not made these scratches. This was the work of my cat. Beans.

She said, “Oh! He must love to play.”

I told her, “Yes. He loves to play. But those marks aren’t from playing. They’re from sleeping.”

Every night as I settle in for some quality television before bed, I hoist my feet up onto the edge of our sturdy coffee table to relax. Soon after, Beans appears and leaps into my lap, bumping his cold little nose against mine before turning around to lay down. He then stretches out to the full length of my legs. He usually extends a single paw all the way down to my ankles. Where he digs in.

He splays open his toes, exposing his needle-sharp claws, and he clamps on. Sometimes he’s gripping a sock or a pajama pant leg. Most often, he’s gripping my skin.

And he falls asleep that way. And I let him. Because he’s cute.

Beans is large, but not in that Instagram-friendly, chonky way. He’s tall and long. Slender and lanky. And gangly. His head looks a little too small and his ears too big. His paws look massive compared to the rest of him.

In short, he’s perfect.

Our veterinarian even commented on Beans’s idyllic frame. At our last visit she proclaimed, while stroking his back, “He’s all cat, isn’t he? Just look at that physique!”

And she’s a cat professional. She’s seen hundreds, if not thousands of cats. She knows a good cat when she sees one.

”

HE'D PLAY WITH ANY OF US, BUT ONLY LIKED TO BE PET, HELD, AND SNUGGLED BY ONE PERSON. AND THAT PERSON IS ME.

MIKE PAULUS

COLUMNIST, CAT-HOGGER

Or maybe she says this to all the cats and their owners. Honestly, her comments filled me with an excess of unearned pride. As if I had any say in his breathtaking cat-sique. As if I could somehow take credit for his uncanny cat-ish-ness.

All I can say for sure is this: I won’t be changing vets anytime soon.

And also, this: I totally took credit for my cat’s cat-muscles.

We got Beans when he was fairly young. A large kitten. Our kids had never had a baby animal in the house, and we wanted them to experience Kitten Energy, because all our other cats were basically boring thirtysomethings.

And it worked. They got to play and cuddle with a supper-cute little kitty who loved to pounce and explore. For a time. Once the cat started growing out of his lil’ kitt-i-ness, he kind of latched on to one family member in particular. He’d play with any of us, but only liked to be pet, held, and snuggled by one person.

And that person is me.

My family has a number of theories as to how I got Beans to like me best. How I stole him away. How I tricked him into feeling most comfortable on my lap. But who knows? It was probably a big accident.

All I can say for sure is this: Cats are able to peer inside each of us and touch our very soul, experiencing our essence unbound by space and time, witnessing the raw force of our personal integrity. And Beans simply judged me the worthiest. I really had no say in the matter.

So now Beans is my little buddy, following me around the house, occasionally jumping up into my arms, occasionally climbing onto my chest, impatiently hoping I’ll rub the bridge of his nose while scratching his chin at the same time.

This isn’t a metaphor for anything. I just wanted you to know about my awesome cat. And if anyone knows how to get him to curl up in my jealous wife’s lap, like, once or twice a week, I’m willing to listen.