When my eldest son moved out, he took
my his cat Spike with him. So every now and then he taunts me with photos. Like this one. Poor Spike. I insist that I must go to Toronto and rescue Spike and bring him home so he won’t be tortured by being dressed up by his cruel captors anymore. (Although the matching black-and-white scarf is rather cute, the way it matches his fur, isn’t it?)
And on another note, I’m waving to Nikki, and Pam and the rest of the book club gals I went out to dinner with last night. I made it home at 11:30 and was so jazzed from the conversation (and probably a little bit from the sticky toffee pudding I had for dessert–can you say sugar high?) that I got one hour’s sleep last night. One. Hence you can blame Nikki for the cat picture.