"Time for Bertie beddy-byes".
That's what Gail says to me, an irritatingly sing-songy voice, before before banging me up in the kitchen for the night.
Like I was a puppy or something, when I am totally grown up. Nearly three in fact.
Tell me your humans don't talk to you in this embarrassing manner.
(And no it is not babyish to insist on sleeping with a hot water bottle. You have no idea how cold our kitchen can be.)
PS My dear friend
Asta in Budapest, the sweetest wiry girl you could ever meet, is facing surgery later this week, and I know that all her friends will join me in wishing for the best possible outcome.
