Mike once had a cat called Skitter. Judging from his story, Skitter was quite an interesting feline.
Skitter was the smallest adult cat I've ever known. By most standards, he was about the size of a six month old kitten. Someone had a litter of all black kittens and my room mate and I decided to take one.
It didn't take long and we knew Skitter was different. He'd suddenly stand up on his hind legs and fight with invisible foes for minutes at a time. During the battle, you'd see him dodge and duck and box, crouch down and stalk and leap up to swipe at nothing. Then, just as suddenly as it started, he would sit down and lick his tail, looking as unperturbed as if he'd just awoken from a nap.
We would swear he could turn himself invisible. One minute he'd be there, the next he was gone and no amount of looking or calling for him would reveal his presence. He never disappeared when we were looking, you'd glance away and look back and there he was. Gone. Later, he would reappear in a "frantic room run."
A "frantic room run" started at any piece of furniture. He'd jump up on it and race at full speed around the room, using only the furniture as a traveling lane. That included the couch back, chairs (and anyone sitting in them), end tables and the fireplace mantle. There were two very long jumps, the first from the mantle to the next chair and from the chair after that to the couch top. Both jumps were more than six feet. Then he'd stop and lick a paw or his tail, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Skitter loved attention. I've never seen or known a cat that purred so easily. Reach down with one finger, scratch his ear twice and purrrrrrrr....
We played stretch the kitty, his favorite form of attention. He'd jump into your lap and roll over on his back. We'd grap his front paws in one hand, his back in the other and (gently) stretch him out to full length. Purrrr....
Pick him up, purrrrrrr...
He'd be happy to provide a neck massage. Just drape him over your neck and occasionally scratch his ear. Or his belly. Or his tail. Or anyplace you could reach. The purr motor would start and it was warm and fuzzy and felt like an ultra gentle massage. As long as you didn't move him, he'd continue to massage your neck with his purring.
We had to give Skitter up when my roommate and I moved in different directions. We gave him to a friend and he lived a long, happy life playing "Spirit fight", "stretch the kitty", "disappear on the owner" and "frantic room run".