These two are in the habit of sleeping together under the ceiling fan every afternoon:
If I speak to Harris he will roll onto his back, purring and extending his paws toward me, waiting for a belly rub. Possum, always dignified when he's not displaying his own impressive belly, looks on quietly.
It's a study in contentment. I cherish the sight of them all the more now that I know we'll soon be enduring the racket of a gut-renovation project two doors away for nine hours a day, five days week, starting one of these days at 7 am sharp. It shouldn't take more than a year, or a year and a half . . . .