Perhaps I’m a tad biased, but I’ve always said that our canine colleagues lack a little something, empathy wise. But then, nature will out, won’t it? And take-away is a treat any day of the week. That’s all.
While I sympathise with the peladophobics of the world, I’m not one to spend my time doing anything but grooming my luxurious fur coat. Fortunately, I am not now, nor was I ever, a doraphobe, nor an ichthyophobe – for someone of my species, that would be, well, unacceptable, also chilly, and hungry-making much. My gratitude knows no bounds.
While I’m the last to approve of babies in cold places without their soft little bunny rugs, it appears that some babies thrive in such environments, even when they are wearing stolen hats that are possibly a tad too large for them. Warm, though.
It may be the case that when I was but a teeny, tiny kitten, I thought the Abominable Snowman was actually the Abdominal Snowman – a common misinterpretation, and loss of a syllable, from what I’ve heard.
But, even so, and however, and yeti I say unto you, would it not be far more enjoyable to be discussing haute cuisine and cucina culture with an expert so expert she or he was named for it? In the early days, I called it the Abdominal Identity. As time went by, it morphed into The Abdominal Supremacy, then the Abdominal Ultimatum (it was often given to hyperbolic tendencies), and finaly, naturally, the Abdominal Legacy.
I must say that’s an awful lot of abdominal tuna under the bridge, folks.
Did you know that pirates love cats? Yes, they do, in fact, to the tune of 99.9999% repeating and so on, and again, to be not quite precise but most certainly annoying.
The earliest known pirates were sailing and raiding quite some time ago, in the 14th century BC (not Before Cats, for those who may be curious). They were called the Sea Peoples, and their preference was for tuna bullion, tuna boullion, and tuna barnacle wedges (with sour light cream). Hence, their affinity, over time, with felis catuseseseses.
I harboured, briefly, ambitions to be a mime, a great mime, like Marcel Marceau, the original and most silent (and possibly, the palest). Alas, I realised that the incredible advantage I possessed in the form of my most expressive, and silent, tail, would render all competition redundant.
And mimes, as you well know, dear, silent readers, are extremely combative types. Nonetheless, in my own quiet way I have continued to practice, and I now dominate the world of meowmes, so the mimes don’t have to worry or even cry out aloud about their misfortune.
Meowmes rule, though, they do.