Nip Head

Last night I was out for a few hours, never imagining I'd come home to--

THIS!!
Oh, Huw! The shame! The agony!

My little stripey cat had overdosed on--

NIP!!!

He'd obviously been rolling in it, luxuriating in it, till he could roll and luxuriate no more!

Oh! Oh! What a sad and dreadful sight! Huw, how could you?!

While I-- I brought it into the house! I never dreamed--!

(Well, I guess it was a good time to change the bed quilt anyway . . . )

Happy Family

When I get up in the morning there's generally a pet convention in the upstairs hall. Llewellyn and Rhadwen leave the bedroom with me and Gwenith and Huw descend or ascend from wherever they've taken up their sleeping quarters.

But I rarely have all four of them there at once.

Yesterday morning, I did. And get out the Victorian greeting cards with the cherubs and the posies, put "Home, Sweet Home" on the Victrolia, and spout whatever sentimental nonsense you might like about Happy Families.

Bekuz it wuz da kyooot!!

Nine-year-old Rhadwen was likliklikking Huw's stripey little head. Fuzzy Gwenith was stropping herself against Llewellyn the goggie and trying to groom his ears.

Are these kids socialized or what?

No, no pictures of this tender domestic scene. I don't sleep with the digital camera, nor yet take it to the loo with me.

But here's what I have from an earlier date . . .