So it’d been a restless night, we didn’t have anything pressing going on this morning, so I was laying in bed, waiting for Emma to wake up. The Cat was meowing - hungry, I suppose, or had forgotten how to get from the living room to the bedroom. (I have to cut him some slack. He’ll be 17 years old this month.) I was ignoring him, or trying to.

Would I couldn’t ignore, however, was the sound of dry cat foot being placed in his bowls. This I had to get up to check out.

So I went to the kitchen and surreptitiously peeked around the corner. She’d carried the big bag of dry cat food to his bowls, and was putting a few handfuls in each bowl. Then she carried it back to where she’d gotten it.

Finally ready, she called The Cat into the kitchen. “Here TC! Here’s some food for you boy!”

How sweet is that?