I must be getting the word out to SOMEONE…as a lovely woman came into the shop the other to to pay homage to me, and she gifted me a can of wet food.
Sweet, sweet nectar of the feline gods. Thank you for coming to my rescue. I could get used to this.
Nothing too new in my department to report, I continue to be tortured by way of interrogation, people rub my head in that one spot that paralyzes me like a Vulcan death pinch, then start barraging me with questions such as, “Are you a good girl?”, “Are you having a hard time not playing with the yarn?”, “Aren’t you just sooooo neglected….oh look at that belly!”. Alas, I endure.
The open door is tempting to run through, but I find myself disturbingly intrigued with the things people make while they spend time in the shop, sitting and visiting while they stitch. She must have gotten something new in, because there seems to be a big hullabaloo over this stuff.
I keep hearing the word, “Marblz”. Then, She pulls out these shiny sticks on a string, and people “ooohhh” and “aaahhh” over them and take them home. She keeps talking about “pretty colors”. I don’t understand why she lies to these people, no matter what pair she pulls out, they’re all gray.
See? All gray. I mean, honestly.
Until I figure out what all the fuss is about, it’s off to find a lap. It’s been a long weekend of awkwardly staring at people through the window; this old girl is tired.