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Don't Call Me Kevie

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I'm glad my cats love me, I really am. Owen now adores me (whereas before he would flee in terror whenever I breathed loudly), and loves to sit beside me on the lounge with petting distance.

But Marley? Dear little Marley - I am so glad that I am your most favourite thing ever. But please, there is no need to start 'kneading dough' ON MY HEAD every morning at 0315am. I swear, Marles can read clocks. Every frigging morning. This cat has serious issues. (And that's without telling you about his abnormally jealous jealous-streak. That, my friends, is a story that needs to be seen and felt to be believed.)