Scooter and Millie are playing together in a slightly furtive way. Upstairs, downstairs, in my lady's chamber. They slink, they gallop, they cast suspicious glances at me, in response to mine at them; they have Naughty Cat written all over their faces.
I have an unpleasant feeling that a mouse - maybe the one that I rescued in the snowy back lane late last night, after dragging a squawking Millie indoors by the scruff of the neck - may be rattling around in the house somewhere.
Meantime, Flossie, fit, lively, energetic as ever but still Afflicted (there was a re-run - pardon the pun - during the night of the previous night's drama and early morning surprise), looks on with some unease. She can't read this situation. She hasn't seen Millie the mouser in action.
Scooter pauses to give her a little kiss; he might be busy elsewhere, but he still loves her.