On the Speed of Small Grey Boofys

For the second time in as many days my arrival home from work has seen a small grey streak of lightning whizz out through the door as I enter, despite my best blocking tactics. She is due to start calling very soon. I am a worried man. I understand now how mediaeval lords felt about their daughters. I must confess that I am less concerned about the mating habits of daughters than those of cats. The daughters, I think, can be relied upon to be at least moderately discerning.