LITMIR.BIZ

      It's just like any other morning. I'm snuggled into her armpit under the quilt enjoying that sort of semi-conscious reverie and feeling that vague quiver that indicates she might wake soon. It's always the happiest time for me, because I know that soon I'll share that quivering as her soft strokes at once arouse and soothe my senses. Starting from my head and working down my back it awakens my oogies and I can't control myself.

      I start quirrelling and I turn up the intensity as I feel her body twitch and move sleepily. She presumes I do it for her pleasure, but that's just deuxjamb vanity. Deuxjambs recognise only a few of our feeliisms and they are haughty enough to believe we do it for their pleasure. Little do they realise that quirrelling is just a tiny part of a very complex language with which we communicate with our kisskies, our siblings, our parents, our friends and our rivals.

      It's also how we reminisce, how we educate, how we settle differences, how we comfort… oh, and of course, how we manipulate those tall creatures on two jambs into doing what we want them to do.

      Mind you, I have my deuxjamb well trained, but it took some time. For quite a while there she simply didn't understand what I wanted. She was forever picking me up when I had more important things to do, uncovering my secret hiding places just when I thought I had her really stumped, and putting all manner of ghastly-smelling things in front of me which I believe she actually expected me to eat.

      My favourite pastime when I was a kisskie was to sit and quirrel angelically until she picked me up and then I'd turn myself inside out and perform a schpitzo. It even amazed me how many claws I could muster at once and how loud I could yarl while simultaneously biting into her hands and arms.

      But what perhaps amazed me more was how ready she was to forgive me. Just half an hour later I could seek some fuzpah on her lap and she'd stroke me soothingly and apologise for being so bad to me. I'd curl my claws gently into her leg, just to remind her that I still had them and that they could be deployed into another schpitzo at an instant if the mood warranted it.

      Through an in-depth but crash course in feeliisms, I'd taught my six kisskies how to perform mini-schpitzos at any appropriate moment - but only for deuxjambs, not among each other. I'd also taught them how to be pussano and quirrel a lot so that deuxjambs would find them irresistible.

      But teaching them how to differentiate between nice deuxjambs and nasty deuxjambs took quite a bit of work. Most deuxjambs are so darn clever at disguising their real personalities.

      I wish I'd had more time with my kisskies. How was I to know they'd be taken away to Weeras in a box or a carrier with unknown deuxjambs and I'd never see them again? That, of course, was a few months ago. Now I have no idea where Ori, Arni, Erna, Arelli, Inda and Sizi went. I just hope they're with loving and accommodating deuxjambs like mine.

      Anyway, as I said earlier, I just love this time of morning because I can reminisce in comfort until Hayoo puts her head under the quilt to say good morning in her dulcet whisper. It's such a pleasant moment. It's the time when I think she's most able to understand feeli-speak and so I reply in the special quirrel dialect I reserve for her.

      Oh yes, she's rousing. I begin to stretch a little and turn up the quirrelling just as she's rolling over. And then-

      'Jeeeeeeeeezus Christ!' she screams, and flings off the quilt in one move.

      I leap two feet into the air and hover for a moment trying to decide which way to run. Every hair on my body stands erect as I contemplate a schpitzo, then realise that a spot of feelichatra might be better. In a split second I'm a quivering mess as far under the bed as I can get, just beyond the reach of Hayoo. I amaze myself with the speed at which I got here, since I'm usually a deft exponent of unvelocity.

      'We're going to be late, Darling. Come on, get up, get up,' Hayoo screeches. Her feet hit the floor on one side of the bed and a moment later, Darling's feet appear on the other and he shuffles into his scuffs. They start running around in all directions. And they say I can't make up my mind. I just curl my claws into the carpet, keep quiet and wait for my fur to flatten again.

      'Hayoo, we should've set the alarm for earlier,' Darling's voice booms from above the bed, 'then we wouldn't be running around like cut cats now.'

      He plonks down on the bed and I have to crouch lower so the springs won't hit me on the head. I watch as he works his socks on and then his shoes.

      They're obviously just late for work, again. I start to relax. It's just like every other morning. I crawl along on my belly and emerge from under the bed.

      'Hey, Megsy girl,' Hayoo says, as she bends down to scratch me on the head, 'I suppose we'd better get you organised too'.

      She bends down to pick me up and that's when I see the suitcase on the bed.

      Me? Organised too? Oh no! The panic sets in. Time for a schpitzo. I try to back out from her grip, to go backward up over her shoulder. My claws sink into her shoulder blades. It's her screaming that does it. If she just didn't scream so loud it wouldn't freak me out so much. Somehow I get her hair caught in my claws and she screams more.

      'Get her off me, get her off,' she shrieks. But before Darling gets anywhere near me I'm outta there. I make train tracks down her back and dive behind the chest of drawers where there's space on the windowsill to catch my breath and plan my next move. I feel the urge to sneeze 'cause it's so dusty and full of wobblycobs down here and I have to refocus my eyes to figure out what's tickling my nose. Humph, it's a daddy long- Actually, it's pretty small; it must be a baby longlegs. I eat it.

      I realise it's a bit squeezier behind here than the last time. And don't go thinking it's because I've put on weight. I'm guessing that Hayoo has merely pushed the chest closer to the window the last time she cleaned down here which, by the look of it, was a long time ago. It's getting a little hard to breathe, especially with all these wobblycobs.

      'I wonder why she did that. She never does that anymore,' Hayoo says querulously.

      'I dunno, maybe she saw the suitcase.'

      Yeah, like d'oh.

      'Oh, don't be silly, she wouldn't know what that is. It's not like we go away that often. When was the last time - six or seven months ago?'

      'I don't know, can't remember,' Darling replies.

      I peer out from my hidey spot and it's then that I realise he's standing there with that horrid plastic basket in his hand. I stay put and contemplate my fate. There are two awful possibilities and neither fills me with pussano.

      First:

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