David has a problem. Most evenings as he settles into bed another member of our family stages a sneak invasion of his bedroom. Samantha has decided that the top bunk is the perfect cat bed, neither Jack nor Tom can reach her there and hey! a whole bed all to herself, what more could a cat wish for? She reaches this nirvana via the bedside table, settles in to the middle of the bed and proceeds to groom herself. Thoroughly. Vigorously even. And the whole bunk shakes.
Understandably, David objects to this and calls for a parent to come and evict the invader. Which we duly do and Sam goes and finds somewhere else to hide from the persecutions of her bigger brother.
Not tonight though. Tonight she was not giving up. It’s important to realise that, after a day on which my car assured me it was 35 degrees, closing of bedroom doors with the consequent loss of cross-breezes is not a particularly attractive prospect. So the fact that we went through 4 separate evictions and a couple of barely thwarted stealth advances around ankles which were actually standing in the doorway before resorting to the shut door as a last resort is less silly than it may seem.
Samantha is currently lurking in the hall by the door in question in the vain hope that a cat-door might miraculously appear in it.