WARNING: LIGHTWEIGHT & FRIVOLOUS ENTRY ALERT ***
I am a single, mature? age member of the not-at-all-exclusive “long-suffering companion and slave to cats” club. Membership entitles me to constant meows to be fed, a small corner of the couch and bed, instant keyboard walkovers, loud purring first thing in the morning and an unending supply of free cat hair delivered to every item of furniture, plates of food, any un-bagged sex toys and of course, my clothing. And since one cat is black and the other has ginger and white fur any variations of colour in my wardrobe are well catered for.
Today freshly showered in preparation for my daughters birthday dinner, I began to dress, putting on clean Midnight Blue undies and a lacy bra from my lingerie drawer. While admiring the effect, and wondering if I had time to take some pics for my blog, I glanced down – and there it was. The ubiquitous cat hair. Not – surprisingly, on my bra, but right out there in the open – on my breast.
And the culprit nearby trying to get in on the photoshoot…
DON’T SAY YOU WEREN’T WARNED!