Just sitting there, minding my own, taking in a distance view out the window ('cause she's got those windows open again with that c-c-cold air comin' in, meowz). And I hear her say, "see that purple box by your toes, get to work little girl!"
But it's my afternoon easy time, almost nap time, work? Then she says (which translates to complains) that the car door closed on her left paw last week and it's still swollen and sore, and this morning she did hurties to her right paw and now it is all red-and-achey, too. So it is incumbent upon me (what is incumbent?) to do all our ChrissyMouse Cards ... because, because MONDAY is Christmas Card Day and they have to go to the man in blue shorts so he can take them to all the friends 'n' furriends we care about, except up in Canada, where they'll wait around until Valentine's Day for delivery maybe.
I look down. OMC. There's my fave pink pen. How many cards are in those boxes?
Does she really seriously think I'll get this done in time?
After all, I'm only just out of kittengarten,
I can't write ... I only print ... that takes longer ...
One way or t'other, that pen is going to the floor.
As soon as she leaves the room ...
I love rolling it around,
rolling it here and there,
rolling it everywhere ...
well, that's a whole different matter.
We'll see about that.
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
.png)
