Now that I have a tummy full of tuna, I can sing Happy Birthday to Casey. He was nice enough to share his can of tuna with the girls and me. Of course, we didn’t get *enough* tuna, but everyone had some. Except Cheryl. She’s weird. She doesn’t like tuna. That’s okay by me. More for me. Casey turned three today.
And today is a day where Cheryl really deserves to have a treat. She took a gazillion garbage bags out to the back bins, did a whole bunch of sweeping and changed all three litterboxes. We have a stairway again. All the more to shed on, Smoky says.
Cheryl was nice enough to take the keyboard off the desk and put it in her lap, so I could have a nap up against the monitor. She’s good that way some days. Except when she insists on keeping the mouse in her hand when I’m trying to hatch it. She moves the mouse to her lap then. I don’t know about her some days. Mice. Cats. They go together. *I* should be able to keep the mouse and do what I like with it. *I* catch it when I’m up on the desktop.
