It's the biggest rocket I could find, and it's holding the night in it's arms.

This is a picture of my girl cat, Miss Fanny Dango, aka Mimsy von Whiskerton. I love her an immoderate amount. She is the sweetest natured, kindest, silliest girl cat in the world. I loves her a big old lot. The Bounder and I got her as a rescue kitten. She is now seven years old, but is very much still a kitten. She likes cheese, licking my nose, chirrrping, and hunting moss. I can't take her with me. A hotel, no matter how boho chic, is no place for a ,somewhat nervous, very small cat. She would hate it. Also, there is the matter of guests with allergies to consider. This is breaking my heart. I literally can't talk about it without wanting to cry. Mims, will be fine. She luuuurves  The Bounder. Whenever he comes to visit it is disturbingly like the final scene of The Railway Children. She will have all the fuss, love and attention that even her demanding little heart could ever wish for. She has promised to write. I know that this is the only possible outcome. It's kind of testimony to how much I want this change to happen that I'm even prepared to consider not having her with me. Someone should warn the cat's of Whitby though. There will soon be amongst them a woman with the compelling need to stop and talk to every single one of them There will be fuss. Songs will be composed in their honour and aliases will be established. They're not going to know what's hit them.