Anyone who thinks cats are antisocial has clearly never had a cat. I'm completely convinced that if I could view our household from Catherine and Malcolm's perspective, it would be a complex social structure in which all four of us play a role. It would also be full of high countertops I wasn't allowed on and tantalizing objects I wasn't supposed to play with, but that's another story.
The social thing comes out in full force during our nightly reading time, which used to mean me reading to G, but now often means the two of us reading our individual books side by side on her bed. Catherine and Malcolm know that reading time starts when we go upstairs, and if they don't beat us to G's bedroom, they appear there within minutes once we've settled in. After I turn the light out, I sit on the bed until G falls asleep, and by the time that happens, I'm usually hemmed in on both sides by sleeping cats. If I happen to fall asleep too, which I try not to do, I wake up at 4 a.m. in a big tangle of cats and kid, unable to move for all the various limbs draped across me. Not long ago, I was sleeping in G's room and kept waking up during the night, feeling something furry at my feet and thinking that one of G's stuffed animals or her pink fake-fur cushion was down at the bottom of the bed. It wasn't until the sun rose and I could see what was going on that I realized Catherine had been using my feet as a pillow all night long.
I know cats aren't pack animals, the way dogs are, but I often think that this is what it would be like to be part of a pride of lions. It's very warm and friendly. I'm glad I don't have to eat freshly killed wildebeest for dinner, though. Yuck.