I am very, very mean. I take the foster kittens a snack every morning and every evening (a couple of spoonsful of plain nonfat yogurt), but before I’ll give them their snack, I stand over them and say in a bizarrely cheerful voice, “Who ready for the yum-yums? WHO READY FOR THE YUM-YUMS?!” until Gilligan and Spanky “speak” to let me know that they, in fact, are ready for the yum-yums, so hand it over lady.
In what’s going to become the guest room sits the spud’s bed. We’ve been intending to move it out to the garage, but given that we’ve got no guests (NANCE), there’s no big hurry to do so. Atop the spud’s bed sits a small doll bed that my father made for the spud and which she left behind (she’s a wee bit past the playing-with-dolls stage). Atop the doll bed is a little mattress and quilt my mother made for the bed.
For these past few weeks, the doll bed has sat atop the spud’s bed, unmolested. No one’s looked at it twice, and then suddenly for no apparent reason, it’s become the place to be.
Spanky, especially, likes the bed. He likes to spend his days on the bed atop the bed, and if you go past the doorway, he calls you in with his goofy little meow to come visit and see him in lying on the bed he believes was created just for him.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.