It's a lovely day over here in Weaselville. Kitties lie in various poses of recline.
Malcolm's makes little nonsequitur high-squeaked prrrrrps, having tuckered himself out at being my silky noodle for the day, stretched out in bliss on my shoulder, his hind legs dangling as I walked about the house.
Next to him, mere inches away from his usually love-bitey mouth, is Jacinta, her status of Resident Crabbypants rescinded for the day as she purrs continuously, her tail tucked into Malcolm's loving embrace.
Baby Wallace, a behemoth vision in pink and fire, snoozes on top of the couch right behind my left shoulder, and when I say "Hello, Baby Wallace, you big hunk of stuff", he opens his eyes, looks at me with that sparkly feline love look, and then sighs as he drifts back to sleep, but not before I slide a finger up to his mouth and he chews on it for a minute like tuna jerky.
Emmaline, after spending the night wrapped around my neck like a feline muffler (one of her little paws slung across my cheek) and the day on me like a fuzzy barnacle, trades in the curve of my neck for a little alone time curled up nose to tail with herself in the chair.
We ate pad thai for lunch, followed by coconut cake, which the kittens especially made unearthly grunting noises over. Malcolm wore a white whipped cream mustache for a while until Emmaline licked it off for him. Sorry I didn't get a pic of it but we were real busy with the cake.
What a gift of a day.