Fortress of solitude

Most of my blog posts are at least partly written with Phoebe snoring away in the background. While I sit typing at my desk, there she is, curled up on the wicker chest behind me, a vintage sleeping bag draped over it for comfort. It’s one of her favourite spots, and she often follows me upstairs, jumping on the chest mere minutes after I’ve sat myself down. Her snoring, at times gentle but often quite loud, is a soothing soundtrack which blends perfectly with the strands of classical music emanating from my pc's speakers. These days, our little black monster is the one constant in our lives, and I’m often quite envious of her innocence, oblivious of the...