Today was Juniper’s fifth birthday.
I had forgotten that he wasn’t always here. That he wasn’t always staring out the window when I got home, awaiting me to give him the treats he deserves for lazing around all day.
I was thinking about when you caught the salmon. We went in the living room to discuss the merits of the phonograph I had brought home from the shop. We had finally decided on something or other to try and play when I heard a loud smack in the kitchen. There was your salmon splayed on the floor being delicately craved into cat sized pieces.
I gave him a fancy feast salmon wet food special for his birthday dinner, but he wouldn’t eat it. I got him a new toy. It’s a mouse that you wind-up. I thought he would go crazy with it on the hardwoods. For a cat that chases anything in sight, you would think I’d brought him a large boulder that didn’t even have the possibility of being a good sun rest.
I blame his tendencies to act like a sultan on your undisciplined upbringing. Not that I’ve done anything about it.
Marianna is going to bring Wichita around on Sunday for a birthday party. She got Wichita about the same time you got Juniper, although I think Wichita is a little older. Hard to tell really, the way his eyes move with you through time.
I got a new cookbook on how to make gourmet pet food. I’m going to attempt to make cat cookies that are supposedly good enough for humans to eat. Marianna thinks this is the last in a long string of signs that I need to be taken to her mother for a good talking too, at a deeply discounted rate of course!
Did you meet her mother? Makes you think that sometimes the therapist becomes battier than the patient, but with more expensive shoes so you don’t notice.
I don’t know why I am being quite so sarcastic today. Perhaps it was that rude little gentlemen in the oh so swank red corduroy vest with skinny jeans. I couldn’t quite get over his propensity to stare at me like I was an old badger who went into a rabbit hole instead of home.
He wanted to buy the Windsor, but there was no way in hell I was going to sell it to him. He’d probably just put it in a corner so he could tie someone to it, have “dirty” sex and film it to boot. You would never have done that to a proper Windsor. Definitely deserves a better owner.
Mr. Flint wasn’t happy with me, especially when red corduroy vest was willing to pay three times the rockers value! He doesn’t understand that each antique has its owner, and red corduroy vest was not it.
Perhaps tomorrow will improve things.
The maple is starting to turn to gold’s and Juniper is now eyeing the mouse as he thinks I’m not looking.
All the best as always,