Home owner's must get wasted on the power.
The internal switch power.
I declare it,
Every fall is a holiday all it's own,
When's the old lady in the basement gonna yank that magic cord that's a gonna pulley those hot buckets of steam-- and string-- and wind-- and long john's under cotton-- up to our player Layer.
Santa is a woman in these low income parts.
There I go comparing myself again.
I get it.
It's just easy to point the lens back.
Easy for you that is.
Saves you a trip.
An annual trip to the soccer and the one--z.
Hope you had a thankful.
Hope you were serenaded with whichever androgynous zyphoid process you're into these days.
Hope it was warm on your corner of the island.
Had tickets and itinerary mapped out to take us both to MD and MA and back again.
Then the little kitty got hit with a block of grit.
He survived the surgery nicely cause he's a giant in the guts.
Remember when his eyes used to be crossed?
They straightened right out didn't they?
It'll be the same with this little bladder bladder chicken chicken little honey bunny in the funny chair with you and me and shorn-ten shorn-ten. Aw. Make way for the cutest Matchbox...!
But, see he's recovering slowly, like a turkey brining for two weeks in a bucket on the porch.
He has a cone, and a couple medicines that you have to shoot down his face with a syringe, and then there's the catheter not attached to anything, so you constantly have to wipe his little leg, and change his little towels.
And, I wouldn't feel right asking Ernestine down the street to do that nice as she is.
This is love.
So, me and Matchbox snowed in.
I myself was in the Tylenol once the temperature dropped.
I was reduced.
All I could do to keep the towels rinsed.
But, everyone seems to be on the up and up and a hiss pop crank now finally.
It's a purr city.
Thank goodness for the lil' miss claws downstairs.
We sure miss friend boy though. He's our trunk. He stands in the middle of our parkway real stiff while we dangle off his branches till our hair stands up and people start to look. Without him we're just a couple of guppies flappen in the weeds. Come home soon.
It's for the best. Kitty needs around the clock, and I get a head start on my paper; tears, and their relation to the early monastic dessert fathers. Fascinating, makes you want to put some sweat pants on and turn it way up.
I will not say I am good at a lot of things, but administering liquids to the helpless, I could teach a class on it.
It's easy, time management.
You can't just put down the lady lovely lock tea set and say, OK, time for a dose.
That would be a melt down.
You say to yourself, OK, in forty five minutes I have to squirt this purple stuff in, Disney! The little pumpkin will want nothing more then to view a furry classic, get her comfortable, chocolate milk and a blanket maybe, and right when she's just about to fly off into never never, Can you open up for me real quick, please? Ump, there we go, all done.
I am CPR certified.
Matchbox is snoring in his cone.
We can do it,
Skin and Toast