The cat's out of the bag. Well, not at my house. The boys are in every bag. Last week, Allie was over and the fur faces dove in her purse. What were they looking for? Breath mints ("my cat's breath smells like catfood!" says Martin on The Simpsons) Or maybe they were going to lift her credit card and head for Katmandu. Who knows with these guys? Yesterday Roo-face hopped into Sam's laundry bag and wriggled around while Roon Toon pummeled him from the outside. No wonder so many kittens end up going down the well - they're willing participants in their own demise. They can't resist climbing in the bag. Being half in the bag myself many evenings I see the appeal. It's cool and dark in there... so peaceful... no worries. Anyway, this is just one more in the constant stream of observations that kittens keep going where they shouldn't. And going there constantly. Sam was over for Sheppard's Pie and rather than have the lads dive into the still warm pan, I hid in above the counter and danger and promptly forgot about it for a day. Found it yesterday. Ooops. So I put it back into the fridge. Had it for dinner last night. And.. I'm still alive.
You have to be pretty resiient to survive living with two cats bent on endless destruction. And the Big Cat is. xxx dad
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