New Year's Promise

Master Rufus and I have come up with a plan. We will not, under any circumstances ring in the new year with wenches,drunkenness, catnip and general debauchery. We will conduct ourselves with dignity, quietly and with great reserve.

Actually, we don't have anywhere to go, so this is a plan we can both dig our nails into.

Some people would be saddened not to have anyplace to go, so let me be clear. I was invited to a party but I am just not feelin' it. You know? I want to be home. Really!

Followed by my last post, some of you are worried, I can feel it. Don't be. I'm good.

A few of my neighbors had fireworks last night and we watched out the kitchen window. At one point, Rufus looked at me as if to say, "Why is this interesting again?" and bounded away to return to his ball with the bell in it.

I turned my attention to his little dishes and decided he needed new ones. These are perfectly functional, but where's the whimsy? Where's the imagination? And this food of his is so bland. Surely they make a healthy assortment of tastier fare? I determine to investigate forthwith.

Rufus sidled past, allowing his tail to brush my leg, a clear sign he is in want of a treat. We played for a few minutes, me rolling his ball away from him while he watches it go. Me holding his treat over his head and him waiting patiently for me to realize he is not, afterall, a dog...

Wait a minute. Wait just one minute here! Is it possible? Am I... I AM! I have become
THE CAT LADY! I am mumbling to an unresponsive feline, making plans to spend actual money on things he could not possibly care about and using words like an old English school marm! FORTHWITH? Who says that?

That's it. I'm outta here. Gonna put on the Ritz...no. Scratch that. Gonna work-it with some tight denim and high heels and slam that party like it's 1999.

Rufus, my man. Enjoy your ball.