📝🐱🐱🛌🏻 A Royal Pyjama Party After a Rather Noisy Day

Good evening, dear subjects.

At last, peace has returned to the Palace.

The drilling has stopped. The mysterious banging has ceased. The strangers with tools have departed. And the air-conditioning units are now hanging on the walls, looking rather pleased with themselves.

The male human is visibly relieved. Having spent much of the day worrying that the installation might damage something, he has now established that the Palace remains structurally intact.

A remarkable achievement, considering that the Palace was perfectly intact before anyone arrived.

The female human, meanwhile, is conducting a rather different inspection.

She is still trying to determine whether these enormous new wall decorations are compatible with her carefully considered interior design.

I suspect the air-conditioning units have already failed their first aesthetic assessment.

Personally, I believe a discreet white cat improves any room considerably. A large plastic box attached to the wall has rather less to offer.

But enough about the questionable decorating decisions of my staff.

Something rather wonderful has happened this evening.

As you know, little Miss Dickens and I have been getting to know each other. Carefully, patiently, and occasionally at considerable speed across the living room.

Today, however, was different.

All that drilling, banging and general disruption was rather stressful for both of us. And it seems that facing a common enemy, particularly one equipped with a power drill, can bring two ladies closer together.

We survived the invasion together.

And tonight, Miss Dickens decided to take our friendship one small step further.

I was resting on my favourite sleeping blanket on the sofa. A particularly fine blanket, I might add, which has been personally inspected, approved and extensively softened by me.

Then I noticed a small visitor approaching.

One paw.

A little pause.

Another paw.

A cautious inch forward.

Another pause.

Miss Dickens was approaching my blanket with the delicate determination of someone attempting to cross an international border without the correct paperwork.

Naturally, I observed the proceedings.

She moved a little closer.

And closer still.

Until, quite unexpectedly, she was sharing my favourite blanket.

Now, dear readers, I must emphasise the significance of this development.

I do not ordinarily operate a bed-and-breakfast establishment. My blanket is not communal accommodation. Nor have I ever advertised vacancies.

But there she was.

Little Miss Dickens.

And do you know what?

I let her stay.

No formal application. No interview. Not even a reference from her previous household.

Just a quiet little kitten, finding her courage, and an older lady deciding that perhaps there was room for two.

So here we are.

Two little ladies on the sofa, sharing a blanket and enjoying what the humans might call a pyjama party.

Admittedly, neither of us is wearing pyjamas. We are both naturally dressed in exceptionally fine fur, and I see no reason to improve upon perfection.

The Palace is quiet. The humans are recovering from their respective engineering and interior-design concerns.

And Miss Dickens is beside me.

I think today turned out rather beautifully after all.

Although I should make one thing perfectly clear.

Sharing my blanket does not automatically entitle Miss Dickens to my favourite sleeping position.

Friendship is one thing.

Property law is quite another.

Yours, Mrs. Cotton 🐱🐾