silly
shammash was crouched there, hiding after I'd shouted that he was winking at me. "Don't mosh the Mosh!"
marxdarx instructed, as the Little Fayoumis tottered into the plastic barrier that can seal the hall closet off from the hall if need be, though it's never closed because the cat box is in the hall closet. I scooped up the Mosh, out of harm's way, the white-socked blotched tabby complaining about being in my arms. "Don't mash the cat. Don't step on the cat. Don't malign the cat. Don't misalign the cat." "Misalign the cat?" I sputtered, said cat digging holes in one of my navy blue cotton T-shirts.
"Do not misalign the cat,"
marxdarx repeated firmly. "Do not misalign the cat," I said, carrying the cat off to my room to clip his claws. "And never set the cat on fire!"
