Ana, the younger (and longer-haired) of my two cats, is definitely not the intellect of the family. She also loves extreme heat. The other cat, Indah, finds this heater too hot to touch. Not so with Ana:
We also have a single fan heater, which is highly inefficient but great for spending thirty seconds warming just your feet. Since it glows prettily, this is a favourite for the beautiful Ana (we all look best under the gentle glow of firelight, real or simulated). And so it was that I turned on the fan heater and rather pointedly put my feet very close to it, so Ana could not lie down and block the warm air.
No problem for a cat, of course: she simply squeezed herself, snake-like, into the miniscule gap. Her fur tickled my feet pleasantly, so I didn’t stop her.
Not until I saw the smoke.
My first thought was that the heater, effectively smothered, was malfunctioning. I grabbed Ana away, and that’s when I realised the truth: Her far side was hot. Not merely “I’ve just been pressed up against a heater” hot, but “I’m on fire” hot. The pressure of my hand on her side put out the fire, and Ana looked at me reproachfully – as if to say, “Excuse me? That’s MY heater, and everything was going just FINE.”
We no longer leave her alone in a room if that heater is on.
Tomorrow: Spoiler-free review of “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2”