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Updated: May 29, 2025
She had sung it to him often when she was quite a small girl, and he a very little boy. She remembered just how he used to look a cuddly, sleepy three-year-old, with a tumble of dark hair and the same grave, unlit eyes. He was often a little frightened, in those days, and needed to hold a warm substantial hand to link him with the mysterious world he could not see. "Do-do, p'tit frère, do-do."
My, how the dollies all chattered when they were once again left alone in the nursery! "A dear cuddly baby brother for Mistress!" said Uncle Clem. "A beautiful bundle of love and Fairy Sunshine for everybody in the house!" said Raggedy Ann, as she went to the toy piano and joyously played "Peter-Peter-Pumpkin-Eater" with one rag hand.
Opaque questions seemed interlinked and mysteriously solved: of motion versus contemplation; Parmenides versus Heraclitus; being the warm, soft, cuddly mother depicted in Harlow's monkey experiments so as to not have a traumatized monkey on her hands versus finding more purpose to life than reering one's young; attachment versus independence; and the containment of her son versus the release of him.
There was nothing weary in the letter, however. "Oh, my dear, my dear, you should see Truxton. He is so perfectly splendid that I am sure he is a changeling and not my son. I tell him that he can't be the bundle of cuddly sweetness that I used to carry in my arms. I wore your white house-coat that first morning, Becky, and he sent some roses, and we had breakfast together in my rooms at the hotel.
And Muldoon says when it gets goin' again the Sea Siren will do a big business on account of the fracas. It's Kitty I'm worried about." "She's a kind of cuddly little girl who needs the protection of some nice man, you say?" "That's right." The eyes of Miss Whitford were unfathomable. "Fluffy and kind of helpless." "Yes." "I wouldn't worry about her if I were you.
"Isn't it a lovely world?" she had said to her lover as she had sat in the loft with the cuddly cats in her lap. "Yes." He knew that it was not all lovely, that somewhere there were lean and hungry kittens and lean and hungry folks but why remind her at such a moment? On the way over Anne sat with Winifred. She had insisted that Amy should have the front seat with Max. Amy was much better.
You're a sweet, lovely, cuddly thing, but if you keep on, some day you'll find you can't get your kimono together." "Then I'll wear two. But, Bill, I'm not so big, you know." Warble up, and parading the room with a martial air. "You're a perfect Bellona!" Petticoat said, smiling at her. "A Bologna! Oh, you horrid thing! But that reminds me I haven't had sausage lately. I must speak to cook.
A few of my stories, which also depict him as a down-to-earth demigod, appear in the 403-page collection. But there were other stories I could have written. I could have written, for instance, the story of "Rama and the Puppets of Bliss and Profit." In 1980, Rama got a cuddly, white hand puppet which had purple feet and a purple, toucan-shaped beak.
Tony sat down too, looking almost rosy after his labours. He didn't sit close and cuddly, as little Fay would have done, but right at the other end of the seat, where he could stare at her. Every day was bringing Tony more surely to the conclusion that "he liked to look at" his aunt. "You like Meg, don't you?" he said. "No," Jan shook her head. "I don't like her.
Her eyes glistened, she arched her back, rolled over and spread out her paws, disclosing to Betsy's astounded, delighted eyes no, she wasn't dreaming two dear little kittens, one all gray, just like its mother; one gray with a big bib on his chest. Oh! How dear they were! How darling, and cuddly, and fuzzy!
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