As I was reading this chapter, I found myself unable to resist squirming about, whining with alternating distress and adoration for the bonnie wee tentabairnes, flexing my fingers with the desire to scoop them up and read them bedtime stories, and kiss all of Number Nine's booboos better. Now my cat thinks I'm weird, and I don't know who I am anymore. I hate children, passionately. On the other hand, octopodes are the most precious things in the world. Perhaps that's what I'm all about: Leetle baby octopodes with leetle grabby claws and leetle pointy teefs. Forsooth! I shall find myself a nice tentaspy. I shall court him in his loneliness, and we shall be wed, and he shall bear me thirty-two beautiful tentalarvae. Mother will be so proud! But first, I'm going to hug that cat.