Youse looking at me?

Trying to eke out a space in which one might, say, sit comfortably for five minutes has become something of a challenge over the Christmas period. My nightly battles for space with Mrs. Ottawacker are well documented; the evening's film space sees any two of the three of us covered in cat (the odd one out has to change the DVD); the Scrabble box is the favourite haunt of both animals; and now my sweater - about the only item of clothing that still fits me after December's saturnalia - has been co-opted by the larger of the two cats, and the one with whom I would less willingly pick a fight.

So I asked Ottawacker Jr. to get it for me.

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