Bad Cat is sprawling between window sill and sofa, suspending her big furry belly over the radiator, and thus maximising her thermal absorption profile.
Little Monster Cat is snoring loudly from her bed in my office.
Hmm, strangely familiar.
Bad Cat has a newish thing. Rather than bug us by trying to annex serious bedspread real estate (like a little furry Putin to our quilted nocturnal Ukraine) she's found the fitted wardrobe. She's somehow figured out how to slide the doors apart and then use the drawers and fittings inside as a ladder to the top (which she facilitates by wedging herself against the back of the closed door and part wriggling). Then she sleeps on the top shelf all night. We had to put a bed up there for her to stop her fuzzing the place up. But the best bit is that she does it every night at the same time we go to bed, but pauses when she reaches the top, looks out at us and miaows once and then, like we're in some episode of the cat Waltons pulls the door shut behind her.
In the morning, when my wife gets up, she slides the door ajar and leaps out. Which is nice, because the resulting sound is exactly the same as having a someone drop a 5kg bag of spuds from the ceiling onto the bedroom floor. I'm tempted to put a trampoline out.
