Here is Ginger looking fed-up because it is so cold outside.
And here are a few of the many, many handkies I have edged with tatting down the years.
And here, because I'm snuffly with sinusitis and feeling crotchety this morning, is a picture of Ginger when he was a baby, with my husband's hand in shot to show how very tiny he was.
Ginger came from kitten rescue. He had been the runt of a litter of eight, born to a mother who was still a half-grown kitten herself, and who was seriously undernourished. When he came to us the vets all said unanimously that he didn't have the slightest chance of surviving. He was just a scrap of fur wrapped round some bones and he had reached the point when he no longer even tried to eat. I spent weeks coaxing food into him round the clock by smearing it around his mouth so he just had to lick it off. And just look at him now!