Fickleness, thy name is Feline

I’ve just spent an odd, feline-free night.

I got to sleep immediately without having to shout ‘will you @%&ing settle down!’ seventy-three times. I woke when the beepy alarm clock went off, not when the purry alarm clock went off two hours too early. The flat was oddly quiet this morning. Their equipment had gone too. There was no trace of them.

I will be off to the airport in under an hour, the beasts are already holidaying in Sörnäinen with Joel. They reacted to their change of scenery as expected: Sir immediately greeted all, investigated every nook and cranny of his new territory and bagsied the best sleeping spots; the Nefer hid under the sofa. I stayed for a few hours until Nefer emerged, lured out by a hunting game – she can’t stand it when others have fun without her.

And then I left, almost unnoticed. Sir was watching traffic. Nefer had gone back under the sofa.

Fickleness, thy name is feline!