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migrating blankets

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[ Major Tom, a big grey tabby, is laying on a pinky-purple knitted blanket that’s on my bed, next to the wall. ]

Tom’s favourite blanket always starts the day here. Usually, Tom is on it.

But sometime after I get up, he’s got to rearrange, & rearranging means kneading …

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[ Tom’s sitting on the blanket, looking down at it intently. One forepaw is up, blurred with motion. ]

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[ He’s switched paws; the one that was in motion is on the blanket, and his other forepaw is sticking straight out, toes slightly stretched and blurry. ]

Eventually it’s soft enough for him, & usually by then it’s … drifted.

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[ The blanket is stretched out to the center of the bed, and Tom is laying on it, looking smug. ]

Further drifting!

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[ The blanket has nearly reached the edge of the bed. Tom’s still looking smug. ]

When I’m ready to go to bed, I put the blanket back in its spot, Tom spends most of the night on it, & the next morning, the whole cycle begins again.