The morning after the night before

So, didn't sleep so well last night. Pio didn't come home. I waited and waited and waited. At half past one, I headed outside in my slippers to see if I could find him. No luck.

A fitful sleep ensued.

At 8 am, I got up and padded to the front door. I called and called. No Pio. I have a very overactive imagination, so I had pretty much convinced myself that my cheeky chappy had been run over or some such thing.

Then, just as I flicked the kettle on for my morning hot drink, a pitiful miaow came from the other side of the front door.

A bedraggled cat raced in. His hair was 'en brosse', looking like he had put his paw in an electric socket. From the neck up, he was soaked. From his front paw, came a wee trail of blood.

He headed straight for his bowl and scoffed as much food down as possible. Then I scooped him up in a fluffy towel and took him to my room; where he snuggled down with Gorilla for some serious sleep.

Even Cousteau's licks didn't deter him from achieving his objective.

He slept. And he slept. And he slept.

Then he got up, demanded some cuddles and had something to eat.

Now he's sleeping some more, having passed on the opportunity to go outside to do his business.

I love how the left picture has a huge contrast between the 'hungover' Pio, the healthy Cousteau, and the slightly perkier Pio we have with us tonight.

Has he learnt his lesson? Probably not, but you've still gotta love him, eh?

Night all.