mad_andy: (Dirk smirk)
Spike's back.

Slay woke me up this morning - six am, yawn - with much sporfling. Which is unusual; normally he doesn't snort and giggle and sporfle like a small child until at least ten.

He pointed to the drumkit, still snickering.

See, some friends of ours gave us a white, shaggy rug about four years ago. I ask you, white. In this house? So it was rolled up unusued until we moved the drumkit downstairs, at which point we discovered it was the perfect size to site the kit on, and of course would be saved from becoming a filthy mess on 0.005 seconds.

Tucked under the side of the bass drum, on his side and blissfully asleep, was Spike.

What had so amused Slay was that if he hadn't moved his head he would never have seen him! White cat, white rug - talk about your protective camouflage!

he's still there. All the four others are mooching about without a care in the world - Jack wandered up, licked him on the head and wandered off again - so as long as the residents aren't bothered and he doesn't wee on anything, he can stick around.

We are such suckers....

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April 2010

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