LorryBorne
Some houses have rulers made of schedules and silences. This one runs on whiskers and wonders.
Angel didn't ask to reign. She simply arrived-elegant, amused, and shedding seasonally-while the world rearranged itself around her. With each paw step across the parquet and each deliberate stare at the dust bunny under the credenza, Angel crowned herself queen.
Here, socks disappear under royal decree, and feathers fall precisely when mystery demands them. The mop waxes philosophical. The goose remains unimpressed. And Sparkle-glitter-fuelled and hopeful-believes in the lint prophecy that foretells the rise of the Warm Lap Empire.
These stories are not merely tales of mischief. They are bedtime chronicles of soft chaos and subtle courage. Of a house reimagined by its feline sovereign. Of the cap-and-whisker rites, the slipper parliaments, and the noble tumble through laundry.
So come close. Tuck your feet beneath you. And let Angel show you that every flick of her tail holds a tale worth telling.