Picking up the little white bottle, distraught at the thought that it happened again. Would you think that she doesn't love me? Dabbing the wound it occurs to me that my cats never, ever bit me. So is biting the sign that a cat hates you?
The purring at the bottom of my legs makes me smile; I put down the bloody piece of wool bud and ignore the burning wound as I pick up Merry which inevitably starts to lick my face. Smiling I press the cat closer to my chest.