Synchronised Washing

Me on security duty with Mr Passion Flower.







Right paw. Lick, lick. Nibble, nibble. Lick, lick. Swish behind the ear.
Right paw. Lick, lick. Two swishes of the whiskers.
Left paw. Lick, lick. Swish behind the ear.
Left paw. Lick, lick. Nibble between the pads.
Left paw. Lick, lick. Swish across whiskers and nose.

Millhouse and I, having gulped down our breakfasts, were side by side on the morning sun bathed patio practising our synchronised washing. Wish wash, wish wash. It's a moment of intense contentment. I had hoped, with just a little more practice, we might even make the synchronised washing team headed for Beijing, but Millhouse often spoils the harmonious flow with an unexpected spontaneous fidgety lick of bottom. A peculiarity learned in kittenhood, no doubt, and a habit seemingly impossible to stem; though I am partial to a quick bottom lick myself. Perhaps I should include it in our sequence. Six licks ought to be enough. Mind you, that is dependent upon what we've eaten the day before; it's not always pleasant. Bottoms provide a spontaneous reminder of the recent past. A sort of -Oh yes, that's what I ate last night- moment. I like modern history. Sometimes, Millhouse offers me a taste of his past too!
The weather's turned rainy again. So after our washing practice we sat at the open kitchen door considering the day's options. Dry indoors or wet out. As it transpired, I opted for the dry day and curled up on a dining room chair while Millhouse sought an under bush opportunity outside. He has so much fur, I suspect he'll be a full 2lbs heavier when he drags his wet body indoors and he'll be quite keen to squeegee himself dry on any nearby surface.
Much more rain and we'll have to ditch the washing and go in for synchronised swimming! Yeuch!


Herky