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It’s her favourite chair. It’s near the end of the bed in our bedroom, and whenever D hasn’t thrown his jeans in it she’s playing in it. She and it have a stormy relationship, some days she’s snoozing in it and other days she’s attacking it violently over and over. Nobody knows how a cat and a chair developed a love hate relationship, but who are we to judge? Here she is, worn out after another battle with the chair (and after I’d straightened up the flag and blankie yet again).

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