Rubbish mousiness abounding at the moment. I am a most unsatisfactory playmate. But we both know they are not real, so what is point?
Gus getting all hot and humiliated and Apologising is the point. And I must now step away from the keyboard. Mice are being boringly two-dimensional and we have stairs (aye, we do. That’s progress for yer)
Oh glory be, we seem to have calmed down slightly. I shall be taking some tea to bed, and possibly a mouse, want it or not.
Now burying catly self in shoe (why??)
Nighters, Cellarites, come along Pussen. and mousens.