Today I am focussing all my emotional energy on striving to achieve the dizziest heights of most strikingly ordinariness. The cats have already fallen into snore-laden sleep.
I’ll let you kno ho it goes, though it ont be anything special, so maybe I ont let you kno ho it goes. e’ll see if its orthy, after a bout of affly indecisveness of extremely ordinary proportions and hacking my mini-hammer on the wwwwww key.
On the 1hr drive to Reading from the Gatwick Animal Reception Centre Matrix rode gunshot purring, chatting and rubbing the journey away. Sampo silently hid under her food dish. Within an hour of being given free reign of the Wendy House Matrix had eaten, drunk, pooped, then snooped into every cat-sized orifice she could find. Meanwhile Sampo slurped a sack of water then watched the goings-on from the safety of under the dining room table before a tip-toe exploration.
Then. They both got on with the serious matter of snore-laden snoozing in front of the fake-real fire.
Pleasing the kitties was a primary influencer when selecting a new-old Wendy house. The main bedroom, conservatory and fake-real fire are already big-hits. Phew.
Tricky-test passed.
Now champagne and kebabs… Hoorah!
after-beer words of wisdom paraphrased in a local (US) regional phraseology:
Wendy: “I needs me a boyfriend to do the cookin’ and stuff, cats is ok but they caint cook”
Matrix: shhhhhhhnnnnrrrrrrrrrr……….
Cats, like boyfriends, can and do snore
Am I DULL or what!!!
