The trouble with fur is that I stick to things, or things stick to me. Like spider webs, which I don't mind but it sure makes my mom run for the paper towels. (hee hee) And twigs, grass and other stuff. I can't go ANYWHERE without Mom doing the "CSI" thing on me. She doesn't even ASK where I've been any more. She just knows.
It's really nice out tonight. Not too cool...not too warm. Nifty little breezes blowing all kinds of spiffy smells my way. A very good place to sit is on the hill, right in the middle of the gazanias. Too bad there's other stuff in the gazanias, like burrs. Little round things about the size of a pill covered with velcro.
When I came in the house tonight for the last time, I hopped up on Mom's lap thinking that might be a very comfy place to be. "YOW!!", she says, and she starts feeling my legs, arms, feet, tail, and ...well, absolutly everywhere. She doesn't even try to be polite. She just starts untangling these burrs from me.
"YOW!!" (I say), and "OW OW OW OW!, and this goes on for a while. She separates, pulls, plucks and drops them into a dish. One after the other. Tomorrow she'll count them if I really want her to, but I don't.
I don't ever want to meet up with another burr as long as I live. I think I'll steer clear of the hill until after burr season, which seems to coincide with dandelion season. Puffs of soft white cotton are a disguise for weapons of mass discomfort.
Love,
Mary-Margaret
PS to Grandpapa: I had half the left-over steak mixed with duck kibble, and Mom had the other half with potatoes and brussels sprouts. And I had my Sentinel pill two days late, but what the heck. Better late than never, huh?
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