I'm not exactly keen on being held like a rugby ball although after an inept attempt or two the whole beastly business settled into something relatively smooth.
Maybe it was because it occurred just after my supper. I was similarly sprawled-out asleep during the latest ambush which at least managed to merit a purr along the way.
Besides, every urban sophisti-cat requires a reliable tailor to really look the part and there's absolutely no excuse at all for looking worse than something the cat dragged in! I'm only glad these sessions are being broached with some semblance of trepidation. Otherwise, I might get rather peeved in the process!
Anyway, I'll soon have a better 'barnet' than Limahl in his heyday for those au fait with male peacockery of a certain era!