Cats

I was watching my cats, George and Gracie, in the backyard this afternoon. George is a 14-pound tomcat and Gracie is eight months old and maybe five pounds wringing wet. And Gracie LOVES George. The feeling is not returned. George was trudging around the backyard with his big-shouldered, bulldog walk, closely followed by Gracie (“He’s my hero; he’s so big and strong!”). George just kept walking trying to get away from Gracie and Gracie tailed him–literally. She’d prance and bat at his tail which made him walk faster. They had a rhythm: trudge, trudge, trudge, trudge, fliberty, fliberty, fliberty gibbet. Trudge, trudge, trudge, trudge, fliberty, fliberty, fliberty gibbet. Or however that’s spelled. George finally hid in the rafters to get away from her. She was disappointed. And I howled. My cats amuse me.

This is what I’m doing instead of working. What the hell…

 

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About Barbara Schnell

I've dedicated my life to full-time employment avoidance. I've been an actress, renovated a 1921 California Bungalow, set a cash-winning record on $25,000 Pyramid, and came in last on Jeopardy. I live in Los Angeles with my patient husband and two cats.
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