As I sometimes do, tonight I settled into a tub of hot water, with a
good book ("The Placebo Chronicles" by Douglas Farrago, MD - a book of
funny experiences from the doctor's point of view).

Little Feet took up his protective position at the edge of the tub,
while I soaked away a few aches and pains.

Finally, the water temperature approached lukewarm, and the water
level had dropped a bit - need a tighter drain plug, I think. So I got
out and began drying off.

Little Feet immediately leapt to the floor and began rubbing his face
against my feet, from which I had soaked off all evidence of
ownership. I haven't much choice, either, as he grabs and holds my
feet while he reapplies his scent.

When I return to the bedroom, I see Dulce Mae dozng atop the dresser,
claiming my new computer magazines as hers. I reach over to pet her,
and she jumps to her feet, and begins applying her scent to my my
hands.

Okay...

Finally, I am redressed, and head through the living room to check on
the laundry in the back room. Buster leaps out at me, all of a sudden,
and begins rubbing his scent on my legs.

Now I am thoroughly rescented, and a crisis of millenial proportions
has been narrowly averted, by quick-thinking and quickly-reacting
cats.

I feel so safe now...

Hugs and Purrs,
Mark