I had a shit-ton of books to pack this morning & Fuss was not amused.
After a period of Herculean struggle to get my attention, he gave up in disgust with the proclamation "I'm going downstairs to roust Meek!"
"Okay, you do that..." I muttered distractedly, consumed with finding an exotic needlework book.
Next thing I knew I could hear him stomping around downstairs rocking out to Sinead O'Connor's Fire on Babylon.
After a while he tromped back upstairs, Meek in tow.
"Dada, look who I rousted!" he declared proudly.