... rather than engage with the fact that Gramsci is the other side of the kitchen door, sticking his dear little white paws (at the end of long tabby legs) underneath it, and making irresistible "prrrrrrrp, prrrrrrp, play with me" noises. Irresistible, that is, to everyone apart from Moth, who persists in regarding him as this unspeakable interloper, although she did forget herself enough to give his head two tiny, tiny licks today, when he was held under her. We are being patient ...
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