I awoke from my slumber.

My cellular device convulsed wildly atop the granite counter. It purred and hummed, flopping like a dying fish on an ivory dock.

A message this late at night?

The spasmodic dance continued briefly, then dissolved into an incessant scratching noise. Text damasked the small screen; “Don’t forget about us!”

“Aha!” I laughed, giving the latch on the back of the phone a tug. It clattered to the counter, and I set the phone down gently. “Babies!”

Without apprehension, the cause of the seizing popped out immediately. Three minute felines! This was no surprise, since I had just received the newest version of the Meowtorola, equipped with nine bars of reception and a longer lasting cattery life.

Petting each one with my pinky finger to preserve their tiny vertebrae, each feline regained their original amount of joy.

After all three were purring contentedly again, I carefully slipped them into the tiny compartment and attached the latch.

I climbed back into bed. Life is purrfect.