A bit of a disturbed night last night as the cats engaged in a slow power struggle over who would get to nestle closest to the cosy fire of my internal organs. Teazel adopted the strategy of digging in where he was, warming his bony bottom against my liver with such enthusiasm I had to adjust his position, twice. Harlequin first went in low, digging under my leg. After I extracted her from the only sensible position for my leg, she went high, and ended up purring into Teazel's ear from a perch on the small of my back. Teazel slept on, unperturbed by her persistent tail-slaps and my grumbles. He is approaching the older cat dream of 23 hours sleep (the remaining hour spent eating, evacuating and complaining) and no mayfly kitten will disturb him from this aim.
In other news, it is autumn:
Blackheath fireworks; pheasant strike on the Oxford Tube; hastily carved pumpkin; blackened Onion Squash; trees on my commute home; nail art (raw materials) at glittertigger's party.