I had business in Colchester this morning. When I looked at the state of my hands even after taking a shower and washing my hair I thought that perhaps they were not very nice to take into a meeting with a solicitor. The appointment was not until half past ten, so I fished the washing out of the accumulated pile that was waiting to be done by hand. The friction of rubbing all that wool and a dose of Stergene often works wonders for dislodging the grime that other soaps cannot reach.
I did the dark colours together first, and when I looked round Mr Cool had made himself comfortable on the kitchen table in the laundry basket. He had the expression of a cat that could get used to sleeping on a bed of silk and linen-and-cotton mix, and looked hurt when I removed him, before hopping back in. The laundry basket became his new favourite place for the rest of the morning, even without the benefit of my best vest and ancient but still good sweater. He was still there when I returned home in the early afternoon, rolling over to show me his tummy and looking suddenly kittenish when I came in. Apparently he lay in the laundry basket all through the Systems Administrator's lunch, peeping coyly through the side and watching as the SA ate.
Once Mr Cool had come out of the basket to eat his tea I wiped the fine layer of hairs out of the bottom and put it away in the laundry. I felt rather mean confiscating his new toy, but we really cannot live with a plastic basket containing a large cat permanently in the middle of the kitchen table.
Mr Cool and Mr Fidget do not share Our Ginger's and Mr Fluffy's taste for pouring themselves into impossibly small and square boxes. For a thorough analysis of that phenomenon may I refer you to ig Nobel Prize winner M A Fardin's paper On the rheology of cats.
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