This preceded the unfortunate Moth-falling-in-the-bath moment (not a way to celebrate one's first birthday), and proves that, after a hard-fought nine months, that at least three of our cats now get on very well together. The fourth is still under a bed, upstairs, though yesterday, I was (a) allowed to stroke her (b), for the very first time ever, heard her purr. So she can!! She's nearly five, and this is a true break through moment. I'm so glad to have rescued this chair from storage: I've lived with her as long as I can remember. When my parents bought her, back in the early fifties, she was a grim mid-brown with squiggles on. They then re-covered her, in a bright navy blue with white buttons, and then I took her over, sometime in the eighties or nineties, and had her re-upholstered in this cat-flattering sea green/blue. She is, apparently, a Victorian nursing chair - that is, as in nursing babies, I suppose - which means that she has very short stumpy legs. Looking on line, it seems (a) unusual that she has rounded arms like this, and (b) depressingly obvious that one can buy lovely Victorian nursing chairs relatively cheaply - I guess they aren't what people other than me want cluttering up their studies any more.