Posted by on Aug 15, 2018 | 14 comments

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Well, you may or may not know that we kitties tend to leave our coats around in the summer a bit more than winter and SOMEONE is always having to pick them up and that SOMEONE decided long ago that to brush, brush, brush my silken self would be the best remedy for those moutons (as they are called in France, little sheep) under beds, in corners, on the stairs, and so on.

Hey, do I object. NO WAY, JOSE!  When I get brushed I go into furvana, haha, as you can plainly see by the look in my slitty eyes.  It’s all too clear that getting brushed is some kind of sensual happening – when mama forgets, I just go into my kitty drawer and pull out the brush and drop it at her feet with a loud myow!  Oh, and I add the tube of malt paste for sure.  THAT is the magical elixir that keeps me from coughing up those whatever they ares that kittys cough up.  I’ve never had ONE!  Really.

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Uh, oh, here it comes.

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Mama, I really love this part of the day.

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Could you do just a little more?

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NO, NO don’t stop.

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Uh, oh, I think mama forgot my brushing today and I can’t FIND THE MALT PASTE!!

OH, SHED!