Don’t know about you, but I could really use a drink just about now.
Of course, I’ll heed my father’s advice and hold off: when you “need” a drink it’s the time to not have one. Instead, blog. That last wasn’t a thing when my dad was on this side of the rainbow bridge, but he would have loved it.
Anyway, I just dropped off a donation from my neighbors to Tabby’s Place. Inevitably, I lingered longer outside those fantastic glass doors than was good for me, just to wave to Olive, flirt with Cotton (he’s so big now!), reintroduce myself to our Rose, and try to get a glimpse of any of the other, sorely missed Lobby denizens. Sadly, most of my furry friends remained elusive.
I imagine Walter was casually dripping over the edge of a cozy bed, a veritable droplet of cat ready to seep onto the floor if someone (often me) doesn’t swoop him into a big, fat, mushy snuggle.
Anka, meanwhile, was most likely a little lake of Angora, cascading across the lip of his crate, half in, half out, always changing, ever the same. A falls of fur.
Melsie, or Melanie if it pleases you, was, perhaps, a deep, small pond of feist and charm curled up on the diaper basket. Those diapers may be absorbent, but Miss Mels is unsoppable…um, unstoppable.
Cats are as sharp and shocking as cheap vodka and as smooth and complex as fine scotch…or bourbon.
Whichever it is, make mine a double…preferably a bonded pair. Or two pairs. Well, not right know. Four cats worth is fluid enough for right now.