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Catatonia.


My friend’s cat - who I’ve been looking after for the past week or so - is a bit of a tart.

"Draw me like one of your French girls..."

To be fair, my cat isn’t much better; in fact, the body language is alarmingly familiar. But I don’t mind; I was more than happy to give my neighbour's cat a fuss when I went to visit today for the last time before her owner returns from her holiday; it seemed only right that I should give her a thorough brushing before her human comes back.

She’s actually very good company, and visiting her is no trouble at all as she lives less than a minute away from me. My friend’s flat also makes for a pleasant change of scenery when I’m working; like today for example, when I ran through the vast majority of my new material there while her cat came and went.

I’m sure I’ll be looking after her again before long, as I tend to be my friend’s first port-of-call when she goes away. I don’t mind: it’s nice to be thought of, even if I end up a glorified cat-slave.
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