If the poor have no bread, why, let them eat cat!

I had a really bizarre dream the other night.

I was making bread, in a bread machine, and the smell was just wonderful, this familiar warm smell that was totally permeating the room. When the timer dinged, I pulled it out and cut it up, and took a bite into my lovely, warm, fresh bread...

... and woke up with the cat's foot in my mouth.

I must have had a fair grip with my teeth, because in that split half-asleep second where I was working out what the heck was going on and where my beautiful fresh bread had gone, I could feel the bones of his toe creaking between my teeth, and the poor thing was pulling as hard as he could to escape, without very much success!

But it just goes to prove: unlike my sister's cat, which leaves massive welts and bruises when it attacks her without provocation in the middle of the night, our cats are so gentle. Neung hissed and struggled to get loose, but even when attacked without provocation in the middle of the night, he didn't even seem to consider taking a swipe at me. And as soon as I'd let go and apologised and stroked him a bit, he lay right back down next to me and went back to sleep again.

Although this time he didn't rest his paw on my face.

Smart boy.