Last night when I got home from the gym, I needed to use the bathroom, so I went into the guest bath downstairs. We seldom use that one, and we keep the door closed, so every time we open it, it seems like one or the other (or both) of the cats rush in to check it out. Pyewacket darted in this time, so when I was finished I just left her in there, and left the door open while I went and ate dinner.
Later that evening, when I was getting ready to go upstairs to bed, I noticed that the door was open, so I went to close it, checking first to see if either of the cats were in there, so that I didn't lock them in (which I've done before). This is what I saw:
She likes to lie in the sink--she does it all the time in our bathrooms upstairs--but the thing was that, this time, there had been a couple of hand towels lying on the vanity, and she'd pulled them into the sink to make a soft bed. She's not the sharpest tack, but she's no dummy.
I don't normally put really large photos up, but this one showed her coloring so beautifully that if you click on the photo, you'll get the enormous, larger-than-life-size version of pretty Pyewacket.
At night, Dinah sleeps on the outside of the bed next to me, then me, then Pyewacket in the middle, then Bob. The only time Dinah ever gets in between us is if she wants Pyewacket to give her a bath--it's even money whether Pyewacket will or not, but Dinah still tries.
Last night in the middle of the night I was sleeping on my side facing the center of the bed; Dinah climbed over me and laid in the middle. She never does that, but I put my arm around her and snuggled in, and thought, well, will wonders never cease. About fifteen minutes later, as I was drifting off to sleep, Bob turned over and touched her, and she was off the bed like a shot! I laughed and said, "That was Dinah!" and before he went back to sleep, he said he had thought it was Pyewacket.
A few minutes later I felt Dinah get back up on the bed; this time, she started picking at the t-shirt I was sleeping in with her claws -- pick, pick, pick. She'd hook her claws in and pull the shirt toward her, let it go, do it again.
I knew what that meant--the lying in the middle thing hadn't worked out all that well, but she still wanted some cuddling, and wouldn't I please turn over and do it the right way?? So I turned over, she settled in, and all was right with her world.