4 am. Stretch out on my sheepskin on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. Emit mid-level meow to alert human beans to the upcoming arrival of breakfast time. I love how my sweet voice pierces the dark silence before dawn.
…My people have never attempted to dress me up for special occasions. I think they know better. They wouldn’t dare force me to wear something spooky on Halloween, nor will they adorn me with a fuzzy sweater or boots this winter. (I don’t venture outside, after all.) But there is one item I wouldn’t shake off if placed on my perfect head: a cowboy hat.
…Not to worry, my beloved treat dispensers. This doesn’t mean I’m giving up on my blog posts. It just means that, so I’m told, this is my last entry before a move that I’m led to believe will possibly be the last one for some time. Maybe. It’s hoped!
…I’ve been busy, dear readers, applying my fur to every square inch of this generously-sized apartment. The carpet is a cat-hair-hiding beige, but there’s also a large, dark rug to roll on. It is my personal goal that eventually each piece of this rented domicile will experience the joy of my spiky hair.
…My usual sense of careless joy deteriorated into a sense of ennui the likes of which no feline before me has ever had to endure. But, dear readers, I am nothing if not resilient. Things seemed to improve and my disposition experienced a boost along with them.
…