after

Daniel is of the opinion that Franklin D. Roosevelt is full of shit.

To clarify, I'm still a dirty hippy (hi Jane!) and we do still co-sleep. See?

Hollie is replete after sucking the air out of Daniel's lungs.

Daniel's cage is for his naps, which have been a vague memory since he was put behind bars anyway, and for when he goes to bed at night. He still wakes up when I go to bed, so I still change his strides and pop him into bed with me for the next, ideally eight but in reality not so much so, hours.

Now, if you're reading this and you're my mum, let's not be going over all judgemental about the damn cat. She never usually sleeps on the bed. Her usual preference is to view the boy from a distance, because he's the reason her life is now in the toilet. Literally. She used to be Queen, and now she eats her meals in the bathroom. You'd think that would be a good reason for her to want the little punk taken down a few pegs, but she actually seems to quite like the new order around here. On this one occasion though, she circled us supiciously before hopping on the bed, curling up in a ball and promptly falling asleep. Fucking aw, okay? Aw! If it was an everyday event, d'ya think I'd waste my time photographing it?! I rest my case. God.

Also, wow, defensive much? Criminy.