With the approaching spring the annual migration begins. In this case it is the migration of a great deal of winter "underdown" from Red Chief to everywhere! There's cat hair on every surface, and if there happens to be a sun beam, there's a cat hair hanging out in it, poised mid-air, waiting to pounce.
We were eating breakfast this morning, when I saw a cat hair drift lazily down and land in my potatoes. I don't know why I bothered but I stopped to pick it out, and asked Tony, "Wonder if we ever eat a meal without at least some cat hair in it?"
He paused, fork in mid-air, grinned and said, "Tastes like chicken," and went back to eating.