Meet Max: couch-goitre:
The other day we had builders around, to (finally) start in on repairing the damage from the June 8 not-a-cyclone. Max did not cope well with the strange men trafficking in bangs and clatters. He had to find a secure place to hide — hence, under the couch throw.
This is how he used to hide from the girl-cat, back when she was still sufficiently bigger than him that she could kill him, and seemed hellbent on trying.
Unfortunately, I broke the spell of the couch-throw by lifting it up to take a photo:
(What? There is no other news. Not today. Move along, nothing to see here.)