The eldest of our cats is the one most likely to play with the kitten but sometimes he wears her out. Miss Red has a variety of hiding places she retreats to when the kitten gets a little too much.
In the uppermost of a pile of boxes,
in the bottom of the cat tower,
in the box our old street tom used to love,
and, if the kitten is worn out as well, in the accidental blanket fort.
“Cats sleep anywhere, any table, any chair”, as Eleanor Farjeon’s famous poem cheerfully informs us. Well, at the moment our feline companions mostly sleep on my crochet, even going so far as to climb into my project bag and nest amongst the folded blanket and balls of yarn; every time I put my project down it gains a cat.
I don’t really mind them sleeping on it, there wouldn’t be much point crocheting a blanket the cats weren’t allowed to sleep on and it does tell me it’s going to be nice and warm.