We used to have a cat, Skinny-bones.

(He had been formerly named "Digger-o'Dell", and his brother was "Digger-o'Neil", but we couldn't distinguish the two that way, so we renamed them Skinny-bones and Lazy-bones.)

This cat clearly hadn't been weaned properly. Specifically, he'd sit on my lap, and bite on my jeans and shirt until they were sopping. And he'd purr and knead when he did it.

I was the only one who'd let the cat do this. Well, I wasn't even 10 yet. I loved this cat.


Yesterday, I was sitting with Ana and hugging her, and I realized...

Me: Ana? Are you eating my shirt shoulder?
Ana: *giggles* Yes.
Me: Why?
Ana: *shrugs*
Me: Uh....
Ana: It's milk!

*taptaptap*

I'm not ten. I don't want Ana-induced holes in my shirts. (But Ana's also been chewing on fabric a lot lately, so maybe it's related to that and my shirt was just an odd choice?)