The scene: Manor of Mixed Blessings, 0300. I am passed out on the futon in the living room because it was easier than trying to go to bed in my bedroom.
Zille: I had a thought. What if we played fetchy?
Me: What time is it?
Tink: Sleeping time. #$#* off, Zille.
Zille: I am deeply wounded by Tink’s mean words.
Tink: They will be mean actions if you don’t stop.
Me: No fighting. It is three in the morning.
Zille: Could we play fetchy?
Zille: Are you sure?
Tink: I said SHUT UP.
Beowulf: Are we getting up?
Me: Yes, I am sure. No, we are not getting up. Tink, stop instigating and go back to sleep.
Tink: I didn’t instigate anything. She started it. And I’m not speaking to you, you had adventures without me.
Zille: Just a little fetchy?
Beowulf: Are there squirrels?
Me: No fetchy. No squirrels. Fine, Tink, sulk.
Zille: A teeny weeny bit of fetchy? Just throw it once? Look, I have the ball right. here.
Me: Ow. Thank you for dropping a tennis ball on my head.
Zille: It’s not problem. Maybe you could throw it?
Me: NO. NO FETCHY AT THREE IN THE MORNING.
Zille: Can I suck your toes?
Me: Fine. You can suck my toes. Just let me sleep.
Tink: If she gets to suck your toes, I’m going to stick my tongue in your ear.
Me: I DIDN’T EVEN WANT DOGS. I WANTED PET ROCKS.
In other news, Grace skipped breakfast yesterday morning but did show up for dinner, no longer looking pregnant. So now I get to keep tabs on her to see if she’s nursing so I know if any kittens survived. Noodlehead and Briar Rose are still massively pregnant, though.
 SLEEPING IN MY BEDROOM THESE DAYS MEANS MAKING A CHOICE: GO THROUGH ALL THE HASSLE OF MOVING THE KITTENS TO THE BATHROOM FOR THE NIGHT, OR GET INCESSANTLY BARKED AND WHINED AT FROM TINK AND ROO ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CLOSED DOOR? IT WAS EASIER TO JUST FALL OVER IN THE LIVING ROOM.