The first thing I noticed on waking this morning was that the six inches of the king size bed that are mine were occupied. By myself (obviously) and my bad tempered ginger-cat Morris who sleeps curled up in my arms. As he falls asleep he likes to be rubbed until he's had enough. How do I know when enough is enough? Easy. He bites my arm, gently, the way a lion snaps the neck of a f*cking Zebra.
There's more. My territory had been encroached upon during the night.
A Beagle (Orla) has somehow managed to burrow beneath my pillow. Now snoring loudly; she twitches as she dreams of chasing the cat that's asleep inches away from her. Not the smartest tool in the shed ourRead More »from Married to a Dog Whisperer