More of our little ville—I’d go out in one of those catalan boats if I had my breaststroke mastered…
Mama’s asking me to write a little more about our neck of the woods (now where did that come from?) because then she might be able to tempt her ex-sis-in-law to come see us more often, and others, of course, but then we never know when we’re going to be here or when they, THEY (mama and you know who) are going to pop me in my carry-on with a squirt of Feliway and hit the decks, so it’s sort of a will-o’-the wisp life we lead and I can’t plan ANYTHING. Makes me nuts.
May heaven help me for saying this, but maybe I’m more like a kid than a kitty, in that I like continuity, rules, parameters for behaviour and such, and all this gallivanting about the planet gets my nerves a-tingle sometimes. Just let me 1. wake up and 2. have breakfast and 3. go outside and sniff around for whatever’s new out there and 4. come back in and 5. go out again and 6. come back in and 7. go out again (this time mama SHUTS the door, not leaving it ajar as usual) and the 8. stand on my back feet and paw the glass to be let back in and then 9. come in and myow for playtime and then 10. have 10 minutes of play and the 11. take a nice nap until lunch when I smell good things cooking and the 12. come downstairs for lunch (there isn’t any, I’m on my regimen still but I do get a few teeth crackers, as mama calls those things good for your fangs) and then 13. go back up for another nice nap with mama and papa (they read, as always) and then 14. come back down for dinner, watch a bit of TV or a good movie and then sleep again until morning.
Don’t change my habits, okay? It petrifies me!
If your kid followed that program, wouldn’t you be happy? Always predictable, polite, no whining (except for when I announce that I have fulfilled my duties as a ‘regular’ kitty and need my toilette cleaned, NOW), no begging at table, just cuddly and kind and sweet and loving all day long…hey, what’s not to like, as papa says.
Right now, for example, the sun has burst forth in the garden and the lemons have turned a deeper golden yellow because of the light and the green of our neighbor’s marvellous garden is greener than Ireland (wherever that is) and there is a soft sea breeze with a tinge of winter in it still and the clouds over the castle on the hill in the distance are truly lovely.
The little devils called grandkids who come here every now and then to terrorize my neighbourhood just love that castle and they made up stories about the ghost who lives there called Bunghi Bunghi and they want to visit the castle, which you can do, but I told them, no, don’t go visit the castle–just keep your mystery of the ghost intact and keep making up stories and you’ll have more fun that way.
And so they did.
Sometimes even anthros listen to me…
But not often.
Enough.
Recent Comments