I said, “Do you love me to my cat.” Asking for a friend,” I posed this question as I shooed him right before he scarfed a massive hairball into the middle of my bed. The darn cat does all kinds of things that make me think I’m serving at his pleasure. If I’m sitting anywhere, when I get up, the cat is in my spot. Sometimes I must pick him up to move him out of the way. When he eats, he doesn’t want me to make noise or walk around: he stops eating and disdainfully blinks at me. But when I’m eating, the cat is all over me, demanding attention while attempting to climb into my lap. I can hardly write because he sits on my arm, puts his face on mine, then sprawls across my…