Sitting on postcards was serious business. After making sure that all the pieces of floor paper had been appropriately investigated, Donald curled up in his favorite sunbeam in the guest bedroom. His favorite nap spot was the master bed, but that bedroom was closed up when the boss was away. Something about James' inability to leave plastic alone, and the boss' refusal to James-proof that room. Donald put a paw on the piece of clothesline with a knot in it. It was much better than the piece without a knot, but he couldn't have articulated why. He could articulate many things, but they mostly covered general happiness, general displeasure, and "where is my breakfast?" He was a very talkative little cat.
While Donald dozed, James hopped up on the couch in the living room to look out the picture window and see if there were any squirrels or neighborhood cats out and about. There weren't, but the mailman was walking toward the door. James had seen this often enough to know what came next, but he couldn't stop himself from jumping when the mail fell through the slot. He shook himself and stretched. All this excitement was too much to take in. Time for a nap. He curled up under the coffee table and put a paw around his stuffed penguin. It didn't have a name, but aside from Donald, it was his best friend.
After about an hour of this, both cats made their way to the office. The sun was bright and strong, and it fell perfectly on the middle of the futon in that room. Donald and James curled up in a mass of black, gray and white fur and fell asleep. If there had been anyone in the house, they would have heard the soft, strange sound of cats snoring.