Chaps and cats

Mr Life has now got Grandson's cold. Here he is, resting on the sofa with his furry appendages.

Here's Grandson, getting into practice for being a man. You can see where he gets the posture.

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The furry appendages aren't so keen to cuddle up to Grandson, though they're beginning to relax around him since he no longer makes much noise and can't chase them. He does grab a handful of fur if he gets the chance, but fortunately they're a bit moulty at the moment so the fur is not too firmly attached. Indeed, our pale green carpet in the living room is almost permanently decorated with drifts of black fur: very fetching. It wouldn't be so bad if the cats didn't have nervous breakdowns every time they saw the hoover. We have to wait till they're out before we quickly vacuum up the fluff.

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It's strange how (some) human beings want to share their homes with small furry creatures. Rationally, it's daft. They're expensive to feed and the vet's bills can be crippling. Our cats have a tendency to lacerate our sofas, scratch our wooden furniture (I didn't know cats did that!) and delicately shred selected areas of wallpaper. I have nightly battles with Cassie about who gets to sit in my computer chair, and if I exert my superior strength she jumps on the desk and settles firmly on my right hand - or walks to and fro on the keyboard xggfddddd,,,,,,,,,,,oyghhh999bbb. Sirius stands on the floor beside me and demands to be stroked. After a while he leaps up on my back and sits on my shoulders, gently clutching me in his needle-like claws.

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And yet we love them. It's comforting to stroke a furry body, to hear the purr, to gaze into those knowing eyes. Outside, an equally furry fox may be walking through the garden and we have no real desire to invite it in. Very illogical.