One day in 1994 my mother and I headed off to the RSPCA (Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals) to find our family a dog. We came home with Mosh – an apparently two year old skittish, slightly long haired cat. In 1999 my mother moved to an apartment so Mosh was adopted by my father and now at 12-14 years of age she’s still in the family, doesn’t appear to notice her age, but is much more receptive to strangers.

She begged me for a photo shoot this afternoon…

“ooh photo shoot time. check out my alert look!”

“how about my slightly hungover look?”

“which is better — my left side?”

“or my right?”

“i’m trying to look really thoughful, is it working?”

“close up please. sexy and sultry… prrrr! meeeow!”

“that’s enough now niina. i’m bored.”

“i said that’s enough. i’m tired. i’m falling asleep.”

“i’m closing one eye now. the other’s going to close soon. no more photos. let a cat sleep in peace.”

“i heard the shutter go. i’m sleeping, can’t you see! now go away.”