M.O.W.A. - Sir Tigger

I've been 'decorated' apparently.  Perhaps I should be Sir Tigger in future  I've tried to train them to call me Sir but they are obstinately untrainable in most respects.

Mr B has awarded me the highest level of recognition - MASTER - in the Order of Wafting Anchors.

Wafting, according the Mr B, is the inexcusable sin of letting cold air get under the bed quilt.  Personally that air under the quilt is suffocating.  Quite enough heat can be extracted from the family's sleeping arrangement by settling myself on top of the quilt, neatly in the centre between F's very warm curled round front and the small of Mr B's back.

"No wafting " is some sort of rule.  Throwing the quilt back to get out of bed really gets his attention:  "NO WAFTING!"

I'm particularly good at holding down the quilt. 
No cold air gets past me, - hence 'wafting anchor', Master in the art.

I might be the only member of the Order of Wafting Anchors, but I'm definitely a Master of the skill.  I should get a big hat with feathers but F says cats dressed in human clothes look undignified and silly.  So no hat, not even a medal, and all I can hope for is that they might at least address me as SIR.

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