After they eat their lunches some unknown power, something in the air, perhaps (one of dad's least favorite words, surpassed only by indeed, likewise and surpassed) nudges me awake and forces me, as if by the scruff of my neck, to climb out, up or down from wherever I may be comfortably sound asleep and makes me, purely against my will, climb up on him.
I don't need him for comfort, mind you, and I certainly don't need his warm, padded being for a place to sleep. I make my own comfort, yessiree, but this force, this unexplained phenomenon, if you will, this something in the air, drags me up from the depths of slumber and draws me to his lap against my will.
As is evident by my struggling limbs and my pained facial expression this position is not at all comfortable or enjoyable and, as you can see, I'm doing everything I possibly can to get out of his overpowering grip and return to wherever it was that I was all nice and warm and cozy.
This traumatizing force field against which I am powerless overcomes me pretty much every day, and I have become a slave to its invisible fury. As my flailing limbs, snarling fangs and exposed talons show here I will fight this evil power for all I'm worth until I reign victorious.