Nighty night

Henry doesn’t tolerate covers. He might curl up in his box, or under the old sewing machine in our living room but he needs his freedom. He sleeps for a few hours on the footend of our bed (my side, of course). He doesn’t spend the whole night there, it’s like he gives this to me as a boon. And while he might drape himself over my arms when I type, he never curls up next to me when I’m sitting on the couch. A very independent cat

Today I found him like this. Our grandson had bedded him like a doll, put the cover right up and tucked him in. Henry just let it happen and even seemed to enjoy it. That’s the difference between being a friend and being staff.

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