You'd think our place offered Cleo no place to rest her aged body.
Much as with grocery bags and papers and mom's craft stuff when laying about on the floor, Cleo seems to find comfort in the most peculiar places.
Is it the crinkle of the plastic bags? Is it the feel of the nylon of our rain jackets? Who knows.
With all that open bed space she has to pick that one spot to nap. Go figure.
Can I interject here? I mean, for someone who says "I've had cats all my life, etc., etc., blah, blah blah" why is this even a topic? Like you don't know cats by now? Come on Mr. "I'm so smart I can write a blog". Get with the program. How about posting something interesting?