My cat loves to knead, especially my blanket (microfiber apparently is a very kneadable fabric) and my stomach (lots of cushiness to knead there). It's fine, except when she's overdue for a claw trimming, like now--IOW, last night's kneading session was filled with my saying, "Ouch, damnit, those claws sting, cat!"

I lived with a kneading cat

We had a kneading cat who also drooled when he was really happy, especially if you were petting him. He also liked to suck and lick earlobes.

Our girl dog, Lucy, never humped anything as far as I can remember, but she was spayed as early as recommended, so. My uncle's little Shit-zus used to hump everything in sight, though.

God, that was gross.

How is kneading gross? I find it about as harmless as purring, just more likely to physically annoy.

My cat has started scratching the carpet, and won't stop. Don't know what that's about. I've clipped her nails and she has multiple scratching appliances (if you will).

In other news, Wite-Out is the most obstinate substance I have ever had the misfortune of spilling on stuff. Dammit!

I'm so sorry about your niece, scrappy. Much health-ma to her.

My god he's on a roll lately.

I think that tomorrow he speaks on the economy.

He also liked to suck and lick earlobes.

With a sandpaper-y cat tongue? No thanks.

How is kneading gross? I find it about as harmless as purring, just more likely to physically annoy.

Well, if the cat decided it didn't want to be grounded and hadn't been trimmed recently, I can see a few ways.

God, that was gross.

How is kneading gross?

Cats kneading isn't a sexual thing. It's a comfort thing. Kittens knead their momcats' bellies to get the milk going when they want to eat, and then as adult cats, it's just a throwback comfort thing.

My stepdad calls it "the footie dance."

OK, watched that food warfare with no sound and every time there's an explosion, I had to restrain myself from saying bwuhlawhhffff. It just seemed like the sound that would be made.

Our first dog that we had when I was a child was Ginger, a female fullbred English Bulldog, who was perfectly amiable except when it came to a stuffed dog we had. Poor Cuddly Duddly (the toy was a promotional item from the local children's show Ray Raynor, if anyone from the Chicago area remembers him) would be discarded on the floor by one of us kids, then Ginger would get behind it and immediately start humping. It was the only thing she would do that to.