Last night I was awakened by my four-year-old cat landing next to my head and belching softly in my ear. She must have been welcoming me home. The day before we left on holiday, she sat on my chest drooling onto my face. Her favourite general passtime seems to be tap-dancing on my head at six in the morning, or perhaps it is begging loudly for food every time I enter the kitchen. Then there are the times when it seems she is attempting to eat my hair.

To all of this, my husband complains, ‘she gives you all the attention.’

I iz on yer head, droolin on yer dreemz.

I iz on yer head, droolin on yer dreemz.

And this, dear readers, is the problem. Remy is a cat, and therefore because Dani desperately wants to cuddle her, she struggles to get away from him. And because I (though I love her dearly) want her to stop drooling on my face, she tries to sleep in my armpit. I usually interpret this as undying love, but sometimes I wonder if she’s not plotting to take over the world (or at least my lasagne).

Remy is currently on my lap attempting to get at my lasagne. I’m not sure she appreciates her celebrity status…

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