the joy of cats

One cold night last week Bebe wormed her way under the blankets and slept for a while with her head on my shoulder. When she left there was a strongish smell of kibble, but I didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t until I awoke next morning that I discovered the half-chewed cat biscuit she had left on my clavicle, presumably as a hostess gift.

This morning she was curled up on my lap when Julia aimed a mighty kick at her. Bebe gave a cross mrowl, turned around and bit my belly.

It’s a good thing she’s pretty.

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