We love snowstorms. They mean snuggle weather.
Plus we are beautiful when we are all snuggled in.
I have been wounded in battle. But you would not know it. Because Life is good. And I am good looking.
When I dream, I dream of luscious hunks named Oscar. And tuna. I dream of tuna.
The sun, it heals me. Plus it feels nice on my naked behind.
I reach out to touch you, because you are near, and so very fuzzy, and your purrs are more contagious this way.
Still dreaming of Oscar. I no longer dream of tuna. Now I dream of cheese. High quality cheese. That organic Italian monk stuff that you pay $17 dollars a pound for at The Teeter. I am proud to be a cheese weasel. Life is good. Oscar, I love you.
Mi germies, su germies . . . our love knows no infectious vectors.
I love you.
Kiss me you rascally rascal.
I love you, you little kumquat, you little gluten free corn muffin, you little little debbie snack cake, you.
Malcolm says: you taste like the first flowers of spring, the purple ones, with the dainty white centers.
Emmaline says: love, love, love, love, love . . .
Katmama says: Life is good in Weaselville.