I think this baby wins at sibling schadenfreude. The other day I was ranting on at James about something or other and happened to glance down at her face, mid-bellow, and saw a look of pure, unadulterated glee.
She’s exactly the same if I bellow at one of the cats. Purest glee.
And she’s not fussy about who’s being raved at. I noticed last night that she couldn’t keep the grin off her face when I was reading Green Eggs and Ham to the microbe. (In your face, Sam I Am!)
Alas, when it’s her turn to be raved at, the poor love has to put up with being the last name that comes to mind, even behind the cats. G and I find ourselves bellowing “Oh DO give it a rest
James Harriet Matilda!” (Generally she’s very good but we get treated to histrionics every now and then for no discernible reason – hence I suspect latent diva-ish tendencies.)