Cheryl is bouncing on her toes again. That can only mean one of two things; either she’s got good news or she’s out of smokes again. Actually, this time, I think it’s both.
I know she did a whole lot of fussing with her pocket brains (Petra called it a calculator, so I’m not sure which it is) and kept muttering things like “MacPro” and “iMac fully loaded”. I’m not sure what those are, but Cheryl seems awfully excited about both of them. Maybe they’re something for me to play with? A new lounger, perhaps?
Massachussetts is settling in nicely. Almost. He (or she) insists that Cheryl’s knee is a good nap place, much to Cheryl’s discomfort sometimes and any turkey meat that hits the floor, according to Massachussetts, belongs to him (her). He’s not afraid of me and he bosses Sparky around something fierce, but he maintains proper respect around Smoky and Sari. If not, they tell him about it quite quickly.
It’s been a rather boring few days, in all honesty. Cheryl and the girls have been doing some serious housecleaning (well, kitchen cleaning) and it’s been raining or really gloomy out since Wednesday. There was a thunderstorm nearby tonight because I heard it. All the lights went out just before Aunt Shandy phoned, but Cheryl said it wasn’t bedtime yet, even though I warned her it was. Lights out means bedtime. Cheryl just laughed, lit a kerosene lamp and said something about a “power outage”. About 15 minutes later, all the lights came on again. I guess it wasn’t bedtime after all. Sure felt like it.
Apparently Lady Bowie, Aunt Shandy’s owner, is going to start a blog of her own, too. That’ll be nice. Neither Cheryl nor Aunt Shandy let Bowie and I have a good long chat, so this can be our way of catching up on the important things. I hope Cheryl remembers to get that bag of real kibble for Lady Bowie. And maybe a bag or two for us. Whiskas is fine, but I feel like I’ve been eating junk food for the past month or so. And the real kibble (Cheryl’s note – it’s called Acana dry catfood) tastes so much better. You can slobber it into the water dish and it’s still edible. Tastes like real chicken.
Hmmm…. Cheryl’s heading upstairs. It’s hooman dark out, so it must be bedtime now. I hope so. I like sleeping on Cheryl’s blankets.