One for the "be careful what you wish for" list.
For the last couple of nights I've been sleepily aware of someone playing with my feet. Having been woken far too early this morning (late work shifts this week) by more of the same, I pottered to the bathroom, as you do, then sat on the bed providing strokes and admiration as dear little Izzy wound round me. Climbed back into bed and hoped she might snuggle down. But she is not that sort of cat. Patting feet progressed to strong taps on the legs and an attempt to gnaw through the covers. The late Oscar was banned from my bedroom overnight for such behaviour. He, however, was more violent, as it was more about objecting to me disturbing him by moving, at all, ever, and his bites actually got through the covers. Izzy is just incorrigibly playful.
I said to her, "Is this the last time I'll have a good night's sleep as long as we both live here?" She gave a "who, me?" ears-up look and renewed her assault on my feet. I roughed up the top blanket a bit so she could have lumps to pounce on that weren't me, and tried to doze off. She went downstairs shortly after, whether because it was boring now or she just never sticks to one thing for long.
So much for "wouldn't it be lovely if she slept on my bed?"