The old man and old owman have this strange idea that the bed belongs to them. Wrong. The bed belongs to me. I allow them to sleep there because I am a magnanimous moggie, full of the milk of feline kindness. But I do like to have plenty of R00000000M. Some mornings as I stretch across the bed to my full length I can hear them muttering as they perch precariously on the edge.
"How does she do it?"
"How can something so little take up so much room?"
"Can we swap her for a gerbil?"
So I stake my claim every night. I don't always take up all the bed, sometimes I save space by sitting on the old man's head or the old woman's chest. Below, a friend demonstrates the sleeping on the head manoeuvre. Often, I don't even sleep on the bed at all. I run about the room instead, playing with anything I can and jumping up and down off the furniture. That doesn't make them happy either, for some reason. There's no pleasing some people.
|A friend demonstrates the sleeping on|
the head manoeuvre
Anyway, it's now 8am and I have had a strenuous half hour eating breakfast and performing my morning ablutions. It's all very tiring work so please excuse me while I find a convenient place for a kip. It's clean bedding day so I think I'll settle down on the bed right in the middle of the duvet.
➨You can follow me on Facebook, talk to me on Twitter, and idolise me on Instagram.