In general, I would say our cats Leo (our brown tabby) and Murphy (our orange tabby) love my husband the most.
They love me. Just not as much as they love my husband.
However, in general, they have sufficient “respect” (if a cat can ever be deemed to respect anyone or anything) for me. I think they view me as the “enforcer”.
But for some reason, the cats have recently decided to push the envelope when it comes to their beloved Daddy.
They have actually attempted (dare I say it – don’t be stupid, of course, I dare) murder.
Leo has a habit, when he wants you to get up and feed him, he will lick any part of your skin he can get to and then give it a little nip. I’m assuming the licking is to “tenderize” the “meat”, then he just grazes his teeth against the skin. It hurts – not a lot – just enough to encourage you to get your lazy hooman ass out of bed and feed him; and mostly leads to us tucking all extremities under the covers.
The other morning, however, I’m sound asleep when Bill hollers! Loud!
Leo bit him. On the nose. Hard enough to draw blood!
Murphy has a habit, in the wee hours of the morning, demand mega pets. He will climb on top of you (and he is not a petite kitty), nudge you, purr loudly, and knead the covers until he gets the attention he (apparently desperately) seeks.
Another morning. I have given Murphy mega-pets, but apparently, I fell asleep again. I wake up to Bill hollering, “What the hell, Murphy?”
Murphy sat on Bill’s face. I mean square, full-on, faux-balls and all, smack on Bill’s face.
The cats are simply reminding us – their ancestors ate our ancestors and you have to sleep sometime.