My cat doesn't want me to have sex.

Larry doesn't really understand that he's a cat. He can't jump, he runs into walls, he eats thumbtacks. He's about as sharp as a marble, but he adores me.

Larry is a cat-whore. He'll snuggle with anyone and is particularly prone to the man-crush: Kingsley stayed with me for a few weeks when he was between apartments and Larry refused to leave his side. He would sit on the back of the couch and hug Kingsley's head, purring so loudly we couldn't hear the TV.

Larry does not like Mike.

It's mostly about the sex: If I'm having sex, Larry can't be on top of me, and this displeases him. He tolerated the boys that I brought home periodically over the past year, put out, but knowing they wouldn't be there that long.

Mike, on the other hand, is here for a week at a time. And there's a lot of sex happening when he is here. Larry refuses to sit near him, throwing scathing looks at him from across the room. This from a cat who was once called "the sluttiest cat I've ever seen." He's figured out that there is more to this than anything with the previous boys — which is impressive for such a dumb cat.

When Mike goes home, Larry reclaims my lap, letting me know that my body belongs to him and I better not forget it again.

Poor Mike is determined to win Larry over. It's uphill work. I suspect though, that, as long as he's sleeping with me, Larry will remain un-won.