What Ifs

(What if I can’t get back up on all fours?)

(What if they never play the String Game with me again ?)

Well, papa and his daughter, mama’s stepdaughter appear to be on the mend after long months of what ifs. I call them that because they describe most anxiety, as in “what if they don’t feed me today” or “what if I were one of those weird Russian felines that probably has a fairly hard time in the society of fur-wearing kitties”, or possibly the worst what if: WHAT IF I CAN’T THINK OF SOMETHING TO WRITE TOMORROW? Echhhh….

But, maybe now they’ll take me to London and I can visit the Queen and the new king, little Georgie. I hear that Waitrose and Harrold’s Food Court have some pretty snazzy tidbits for kitties like me. Then, again, I understand that a kitty already resides at the daughter-house and she is pretty spiffy so they’ll probably leave me with the sitter.

Who is English, so I’ll have my little British vacation anyway—she gives me fish off her own plate!

Right now, the anthros are packing, which drives me deeper under the couch. Not so different from anthros, really, as I see mama running around like a chicken with its head cut off (now there’s a nice simile, no?) trying to straighten up the apartment and clean out the fridge and iron the shirts and pack my kitty box for the ferry and pick up cleaning and get some apples because a friend sent an email with ten new ways to help avoid Alzheimer’s and apples are really good for that, so you see that leaving one place to go to another is not as easy as (shepherd’s) pie (I’m practicing for my English adventure—everyone in England eats shepherd’s pie, I hear, or pasties, or better yet, FISH AND CHIPS.

I forgot. I’m not going.

Well, France will have to do, papa and mama are happy about the London contingent, mama seems to have calmed down a bit, and my garden awaits. What’s not to like?

Back to my arugula–sigh….