Maisie knows. Whenever I settle down with a book she is already there, fussing and purring, insinuating herself between my eyes and the page with soft determination. While I try to change position to accommodate her, she slaloms around my arms, expertly remaining central and obscuring my view.
It is as if she can anticipate every move and calmly prevent it with sinuous and practised ease. She always succeeds.
Even before I think of reading, Maisie knows.
