When my grandson came to live with us late last fall, he brought along his cat, Monkey. A pretty gray striped tabby with some noticeable marking showing he has Siamese somewhere in his lineage. He was standoffish with me at first, would run when I wanted to pet him, never mind pick him up. And we have a loud-mouthed Chihuahua who wasn't about to give ground to a cat, even a cat bigger than her. She'd run at Monkey to let him know who was boss and he would run to my grandson's room.
Fast forward a few months, Monkey hangs around my office, loves to lie on my desk whenever there's room among all the papers and flotsam. If there's not room on the desk, he finds an empty box or something else of mine to lie on. At some point, if I'm working at the computer for a while, he'll get out of the box and come to my chair, meowing. If I don't pick him up immediately he'll paw at me to get my attention. Both arms are required for me to pick him up as he's about two feet long and heavy. Ever try to type while holding a 20 pound purring kitten on your shoulder?