This is one of those beautifully neat, elegant and symmetrical compositions by means of which cats attempt to persuade us that they are neat and elegant creatures, and that the catsick on the front step/dismembered bird in the bathroom/live mole released under the Evil Landlord's bed/piles of hair on the furniture are nothing to do with them.
The interaction of dog- and cat-owners with their much-loved pets is one of the things which actually gives me hope for the human race. An animal is not only a member of a totally different species with absolutely different needs, wants and pleasures to ours, it's a member of a totally different species which has only the most minimal ability to communicate with us. Despite this, we cheerfully accept sick on the carpets, dismembered creatures all over the house, clawed furniture, plaintive meeping at mealtimes, and the Hobbit's fixed determination to break my neck by walking in front of me unexpectedly, without diminishing our affection for these creatures one jot. Animals are a huge intrusion into the well-ordered life of the average human; by and large they don't obey the rules worth a damn. And yet we keep them. And love them. And, however much we complain about their foibles, we're fiercely protective of them and devastated when they die. It's about the only thing, apart from intelligent science fiction, which gives me any reason to hope we might actually be capable of the sublimation of ego necessary to get along with extraterrestrial life, should we ever find any.
Golux is on the left, the black blob on the right is Todal. I should add that this is a bi-coloured sofa because it has a throw blanket on it as a vague stop-gap to prevent the grungy piles of cat-hair from irrevocably staining the light fabric. If you visit, the secret is to remove the throw before you sit down.