I had a flurry of fun chasing a pen across the floor until I lodged it in under the stove.

That ended that fun but no matter.

Honestly it’s been a don’t fidget, just let me cuddle sort of day. My stomach is uncertain. The tuna did not agree with me before or after I ate it. And the ham I had anticipated didn’t pan out. The simians seem to have done easter away and only came home smelling like those other hairless talls, and to top all that off Tigey died as I mentioned. I think I’ll just lay low for the rest of today. I’ll feel better tomorrow.

Tigey Rest in Peace, sleep well in the land of hunter’s dreams. My sympathy and warmth to those who knew and loved the sweet kit.

It may be a long wait but I’ve heard that today is H-day i.e. ham day. Any minute now they should be pulling one out the smell sealed cold area and roasting it. If pattern holds, the noisy smelly talkers will clomp in and scare the beemewpers out of my colleague and I can suck up the excess affection doled. I just have to wait.

Meanwhile while they’re out, (probably getting me some sort of extra treat, but really you *should* have, I’ll demure then lick it up) I’ll catch up with Psychokitty

Another theory bits the tailfeathers. She didn’t go out afterwards. All that odor reduction and change and no leveraging it to seize something. Strange. Strange. What is the payback for the ordeal of wet?

Hm, something new here. The hairless huntress has been soaking for hours in water. I can only assume that she is trying to soak off natural oils, replacing them with masking plant oils so that she can hunt in the forest with her natural simian scent giving her away. Interesting. Hope she catches a big mouse and saves me some.

Of course, she may be just going out to stalk undetected and observe. The kit shows some promise.

I sat as upright and stiff as a keeled over canary. The moon phases. something about the moon phases. Then I researched it. Imminent is the sacred holiday for simians. Easter. Which can mean only one thing of importance to me: Ham. Lovely carpeting catch my droor and Catess Mror, help me score a piece.

What you eat comes out your pores, can be tasted and smelled in your hair, a double your fun benefit of tuna. The sudden screeching change in diet seems to have worked a change in my digestion again. So if you’ll excuse me…must remember to not bury it this time. Between them not finding it all to take away and my putting my foot in it last time leaving a brown wish-it-were-muddy footprint the length of the hall, yes, I think it best for all if I don’t bury it today.

the hairless tom was kind enough to go behind the high heat box, oven, I beelive they call it. He retrieved those wonderful toys my colleagues prefer and that the simians write with, as well as 5 small bouncy balls and at least one litter’s worth of fluff hair that has drifted back there

What’s teh feeding sound? Smacking? wet? Excuse me, I’m still between you. Yoohoo. Remember me down here *tail tip twitching turning to lashing* Perhaps this kissing ritual provides some self comfort similar to milk paddling but simians, and yes I’m a professional scientist but have you no sense of privacy?

For some of my simian readers, it is world poetry day so to mark to occasion a few words from Marge Piercy who obviously has had cats as her intimates. An excerpt from her pome, The Cat’s Song

Come and I will teach you to dance as naturally
as falling asleep and waking and stretching long, long.
I speak greed with my paws and fear with my whiskers.
Envy lashes my tail. Love speaks me entire, a word

of fur. I will teach you to be still as an egg
and to slip like the ghost of the wind through the grass.

and goodnight.