I don't know how I ended up owning a cat. I've always considered myself a dog person. I have had cats in the past, but never really 'bonded' with them. They were always just way too persnickety for me. I am a very 'involved' sort of person and I want to be involved in your life if we are going to live in the same house. Cats don't get 'involved'.
I guess cats are smart enough to figure out who feeds them and who doesn't particularly want to pick them up and search their fur for bugs. I leave that to the kids. And, I'm pretty sure that's why the cat--his name is Bubba, btw--usually high-tails it out of the room, or the house, when they show up.
I am alone with the cat a lot and, of course, he likes attention--at least, when it's convenient for him. So, my solution is to hang my arm off the end of the couch where he can rub up against it at his leisure and I don't have to care worry that he is not getting what he wants.
That worked quite well for a long time, but then Bubba decided that he wanted more than just a disembodied hand to play with. So, he started whining politely meowing at my feet until I would rub his belly.
That seemed un-committal enough for me. Until he wanted to really 'play'. Apparently, he decided I could be the huge animal he had just caught and wanted to toy with before the final, killing blow to the neck. Before I could figure it all out, the claws were around my hand. The back feet were kicking my arm in tandem. (I guess I wasn't 'lively' enough a prey so he wanted me to move around?! I don't know!) and I could feel the teeth on my fingers. It was weird because I could tell he was 'pulling his punches' so to speak. His mouth would quiver as he tried not to bite me very hard.
This all happened in a very short space of time and it took me by surprise. In fact, I was so not focused on the situation so much that I started to giggle. He was not impressed with the giggling, and kicked me all the harder and the claws settled deeper into my skin. Now, I was laughing out loud as I tried to pull unsuccessfully to free my hand--maybe because I was recalling how this patheticat would slink around the fishpond, pressing himself to the wall and hoping to be inconspicuous, when there are ducks present. Or of him taking a nap when the grass is full of birds eating bread and he is sufficiently hidden behind the brick planter with the uncontrollable jasmine. Not the fierce hunter he seemed to want to be at the moment.
He finished whatever scene was playing out in his little cat head and I eventually disconnected myself from his grip. He wandered strutted off in total satisfaction at having tamed 'the hand' and I snickered a bit longer as I tended to my wounds.
This has become an occasional occurrence and I still giggle when he goes into attack mode. I don't know why. But it's as 'involved' as I want to be in a cat's life.