Posted by on Jun 28, 2014 | 2 comments

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Oh, boy, mama showed me something just now that came from her friend, Anne, and it made my little kitty tears run!!! Take a look at this amazing street artist and his marionettes and see what I mean.  His name is Ricky Syers and boy, if he did some kitty marionettes, he would be my friend forever.  Isn’t it great what friends of mine send me.  They say, “Loulou, open your emails and just look at this amazing recipe for sangria sorbet!”  And although I don’t eat much sorbet, I can get into a good jolt of sangria (except mama moves the glass away after I’ve sniffed it a bit–I think it’s the sugar I smell) and now mama is hard at making sangria sorbet and what on earth will be next from that nutty Anne?

It’s a good thing I’m here at all after a quickie “emergency”–haha– trip to that  lady doctor who sticks something where the sun don’t shine, if you get my drift, and then she tries to make up for it by tummy tickling me and saying, “Oh, Loulou, vous êtes un bon minou“–getting both the language and my SEX wrong!  Actually mama copied that from the internet, I have to confess and what she really said was said in the tu and she didn’t mention sex at all. Unfortunately.  But seriously, folks, I was okay and had only a little allergy to the platane trees or something in the garden and was panting a little, but mama and papa do that all the time in the morning–that is, they sneeze during this particular season–so why not me?  I’ll be fine but I hate being put in a cage, even if it is sprayed with Feliway, and carted off to a doctor, even if she IS a lady.

Papa told her he thought I was a junky.  I do loll around in my catnip often, especially in hot weather, and I DO look a little wee-wah when I come in, but so do some people after a few mojitos, right?  Well, she told papa that catnip is FINE for me but it does make some cats h……y–that is, itchy for luv…if you get my meaning, but around here I don’t have to worry about such mundane things because there is no “luv” partner in sight and that fake rat from Ikea just doesn’t cut the mustard.

Boy, what a ramble.

I’m off to my favourite task.  It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it, plus I’m punishing mama and papa for that jaunt to the vet.  They won’t have my company for HOURS!

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