"You may look at Belle."
"From the other side of Brother Graham, that is."
"That's enough now."
"Go away. Belle is tired of looking at you."
Three Mayweather kittens approach me whenever I come through the door. They purr and sniff my toes and think about touching me. But I had better not think about touching them or else their flight instincts kick in. Give it another week and I'll bet we're best friends. Just don't tell Belle about it yet. I'm not sure she can handle it.