First I lay on top of tom since that seemed to be the game, since he was lying on top of jane. Seems it was a private game as I soon landed off the blanket on my tail. A few hours later, probably around 7 am or so, I found the jane’s bladder and sat on it, pressing to help her find out if it full yet. It seems it was. She bolted out of bed. Since she was up anyway, I tried to heard her towards my noteably empty bowls. It worked. Something had to.

Why it’s me!

Thank you for your sympathy and concern.
I am trying to take a high perspective in this new era with tom and jane.

For distracting lightness, would you like to find out if you are like me?

What Kind of Cat are You? Quiz

Visitors? For me?
That kitten looking one with the fluffy hair, round bely and flattened face is doing cooing simian sounds but doesn’t chase and grab me. I might like him.

…

They have buckets and strange hoses…funny most people bring bottles or food.

…

Oh! I can feel my ears flatten so much they needly indent in my head. The vistors are running moist vacuums all over the place(?!)

I’ll be under the bed if anyone needs me.

Have I mentioned that transmissions from central office often are patched over the orange-pink tabby radiance of dawn?

As I send my notes on the minutae of interactions, readings, research and rich data, any messages from the collective come back. Replies from there are rare. Usually it is just the transmission static equivalent of an ear flick. Today however, the confirmation of what I beleived came through.

My colleague’s last of corporal earth lives has been used.

May Ms Zhou rest in a sleep that returns lithe limberness to limbs, 3rd eyelid of suspicious slipping over only for sleep between romps among the trees of the infinite forest of night and dawn.

Are you ever standing somehwere and go to leap and then miss and have to claw desperately and then still fall on your butt?
Do you ever change positions suddenly and then fall off the chair entirely?
Have you ever gone to the washroom and have a one long human hair making all your turdlettes as sausages on a string that don’t stay in the litter box but follow you around?

I hope it hasn’t happened to you.

What can I say? I’m so glad a new day is dawning.

Under the near perfect dark of our moon, I fear for the worst.

Has my colleague been given the ultimate reassignment to the mousefields of our Mror?

Hoowwwwlllllhowwwwl

I will have to await the next transmission from the central interdimensional cattery to see if my concerns hold out regarding the coillegue. In the meantime, I find it hard to approach the food altar.

I stretch my digits, lift the carpets, treadle the bed but with all the emotion running high among tom and jane, it is hard to buffer myself and enter the normal utter calm I carry.

The jane and tom have been dripping from their noses and have had runny eyes with lower contrast between the white and colored bit. There are definite positive ions clouding around them.

My mind leaps immediately to the new absence of the listless Ms. Zhou. She has not been herself and is now AWOL with aid. I heard her fight the box entry. She may be with the vacation place again but my gut says not.

What? Burton’s book on cat art a farce? Does this mean his groundbreaking work on Dances with Cats was also meant tongue in cheek? And Why Paint Cats: the Ethics of Feline Aesthetics is that implicated as well? Did no one actually paint cats and the images are photoshopped?

He has so much truth captured in these exceptional cat artists. Surely the truth of that shines through?

Beau and all, have your people had you undergo formal intelligence testing, like Test Your Cat’s Creative Intelligence: Eighteen Easy-To-Use Test Cards to Verify Your Cat’s Artistic Ability