Last night, rather late. K's alseep, and I'm reading Pullman's 'The Amber Spyglass'.
Suddenly K says, very loudly, "There are too many cats in my life!"
Her eyes aren't open or anything.
"Name one," I say.
"There are too many cats in my life!"
"You are asleep, of course."
"No! There are too many cats in my life!"
"Am I qualified as one?"
At this point she, having had enough of me, murmurs angrily and ends the conversation by sticking her elbow somewhere in the vicinity of my kidney.
When she woke up, she had no recollection of this. However, she insisted that she had something very important to tell me, which she forgot, and which, therefore, I should try to remember for her.
She wasn't ready for the answer.