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It goes without saying that Mojo’s always cute – it’s her job and she’s good at it. However, lately, she’s been cranking it up to 11.

She starts out the day having a wee rest after breakfast. For some reason, her legs appears to have become longer lately and the white fur looks even more like little tufts of whipped cream

Mojo sits at me. She sits louder than anyone I’ve ever met. In fact, Mojo’s ability to communicate her desires through posture, utterly soundlessly and through walls has convinced me of the truth in the theory that pets develop a psychic link with their people. I’ll be doing something in the bathroom, in the kitchen (not necessarily food related) and all of a sudden, I get that feeling and I just know she’s sitting at me. A quick peek at one of her regular hangouts will inevitably reveal is that yes indeed, Her Royal Catness wants something. She has become so proficient at this talent that sitting at my attendants will also cause them to cater to her whims. Here, she’d like some water, please. Cold. In the blue glass with the stars on it. Filled up, but only until about 1cm from the rim. Oh, and now would be good.

Mojo firmly believes that everything in my home belongs to her, on occasional loan to me and this includes food. Normally, she’s fairly well-mannered about the begging, positioning herself on the floor next to my chair, gazing up at me with eyes as big as saucers. When that doesn’t work (much), she moves to the other side of the chair, just in case I hadn’t seen her, but eventually she wanders off. However, not when it comes to any variety of ham. I haven’t had ham in a really long time, but recently started eating it again, at which point I discovered that the polite was just an act. That if she cannot sit insistently near/on my plate (because I have moved my sandwich into my lap and backed away from the table in order to keep my food to myself), she will perch in the hunting position on the edge of my table, in an attempt to intimidate me into sharing the Food of the Gods.

I may have mentioned that the fluffball has an abiding love of anything remotely resembling a box or a bag. Her latest favourite game involves placing her front end in her most recent bag and go absolutely nuts while I move the mousie around on the bag so it makes crinkle noises (pardon the quality of the photo – I was trying to accomplish the picture without growing an extra arm).

And then, at the end of a busy day, she sleeps and in the process, becomes longer that any other cat I know.