Tomato Soup

I was sampling the remnants of tomato soup on the soup mug, after Lynette had eaten the soup, when she said to me, 'Cats don't like tomato soup, Sasha. They don't eat tomato soup. It isn't good for them and they might get sick.'
She snatched the mug away from me and ran water into it from the tap.
How does she know that?
I went inside and lay on the sofa in the warm draft from the heater. But she won't let me alone. In she comes, staring at me.
'Oh there you are, Sasha!'
Why shouldn't I be here? It is a very sensible place to be.
'You have thrown your Peru bear on the floor and your woollen rug, Sasha. Look at them! Why have you done that?'
Silence is the best answer.
She puts the fleecy wool against me and I put out one arm to touch the softness, then I tuck my arm back in and curl up. Lynettea sits next to me. I am warm and cosy. I think I may nod off for a little while.