[Major Tom, a big grey tabby, is curled up on his side in a rectangular forest green basket. His paws are tucked up in front of him and his belly is pale tan. Lining fabric from a jacket, deep maroon, spills over the edge of the basket; Tom has his head resting on it.]
Tom used to love this basket before we moved here, but once we got here he totally ignored it. Until a few days ago, when, in the process of packing up, it got stuck on the coffee table.
Which is where it’s stayed since then, because we’re clearly Not Allowed to move it.
[One forepaw is tucked up against his chest, and part of his floofy belly shows. A couple white whiskers are just visible at the top edge of the photo.]
Such peaceful sleep … until he wakes up. Why did you wake him up. Why.
(Because it makes him flail hilariously, that’s why.)
[One of Tom’s eyes is just barely open; the other is squinched firmly shut. A blur to the left is his tail, expression his opinions of consciousness.]
Fair, Tom. Same.
[Both his forepaws are tucked up against his belly now. His bellyfur looks soft and eminently pettable.]
& then he slowly drifted back to sleep.
[Tom’s eyes are partly closed, and his ears are calm again. His gaze is notably unfocused.]
Annnnd he’s out.
[Tom’s eyes are peacefully closed now.]