This is my cat, the Tank. He is trying to entrap you with his apparent sweetness. Do not touch his belly. Oh sure he will rub up against you. He might even purr. It is all a ruse so he can rip off your arm. The Tank believes that this is his house. He is cuddly, affectionate, and sweet to Big E and I. He keeps my feet warm at night. But he hates the rest of the world. Sweetheart G has this continual conversation with me that starts "When The Tank is dead, can I have a cat who loves me?" Little e's version also starts with "When The Tank is dead.." but ends with "can I have dog?"