Imogen was still apologizing by lunchtime. We had made pasta in my kitchen after waking up late, and were adjusting some of the furniture to better make room for Olezhka to be comfortable in.

"I don't know what came over me," she said. "I'm not normally a cuddly sleeper--I shouldn't have even been there to begin with. I'm so sorry, it won't happen again. That was such a terrible position to put you in."

Her constant contrition was beginning to grate on my nerves. "It's fine." I ...