This morning at four (yes, FOUR) thirty, boycat started scratching at the bedroom door. Normally this isn't a problem, but he's recently learned that he can open the door by jumping up onto the handle, so after dozing back off, I then got woken up by a large ginger lump jumping on my head and settling there
We live in an open-plan flat so there's no way I can shut them into the kitchen overnight or anything either!
Now he has started his thyroid meds, Mr Cory slumbers peacefully in the dead centre of the bed, and waits for me to get up.
I'm amazed - the scars on my legs are healing - the little lad used to bite any bits that poked out of the duvet to encourage me to serve a dawn meal. Best of all, my GP no longer gives my slashed arms a disapproving glance before asking if I self-harm.
Mr Cory's favourite thing is having an afternoon nap on me, I am forbidden from MNetting or even reading and instructed to lie dead still.