No! Don't sleep in that!

Mystery cat was looking for somewhere to sleep last night. As is the way with cats, he swaps his favourite place in the world every week or two. He did have the spare room as his special place, where he used to sit, looking down upon us lesser mortals, like a furry Zeus that snores and dribbles a bit. However, he was ousted from his spot by Pie the usurper, who staked his claim by slinking in and shedding orange fur in mysterys sleeping dent.

The Apricot horror, scheming his annexation of the spare room.

 Anyhow, the boy was looking for somewhere comfy last night, and, as there were no bags to sleep in/on/under, and the laundry basket was in a different place than he wanted <oh the trauma>, he was out of immediate ideas. He tried jumping onto my chair, but I was using it and shooed him off. He glared with kitty reproached, and went as far as to wag his tail at me.

I used to be in banking, now look at me.

 He then decided to jump on Ruths chair, where he was intercepted by the queen of pain herself <Mim, not Ruth>, who bared one dainty claw and hissed gently, a sure indicator of impending bloodshed. Defeated, he slunk away to find somewhere else.

My hat, my chair, my rules. Live with it. Or don't.

 All was quiet.
Too quiet.
There was a rustling from the utility room, and thinking that  the black imperator had "delivered a blessing", I went to bury it, or remove it. With mounting terror I crossed the kitchen floor, and approached the pit of steeeeenk, to find the noble lord, asleepin his litter tray, like some massive hairy poop.

Cats are freaks.