Heeere's Kitty!

Yes, the Arrival of the Cats has occurred at Camp Becky. They travel pretty light, actually, nothing like me, who goes to the Cape packed down like a beast of burden. They don't bring any clothes. No one here will dress them up in little hats and peignoir sets. Nor will they be pushed in a buggy. They don't need bathing suits--when the toilet bobbing gets a little boisterous, they just fall in.

So far there has only been one controversy, the Where Do We Get to Sleep battle, or Why Can't We Sleep On Your Bed In The Exact Same Spot As You imbroglio. I started the first night by locking them out of the bedroom. It worked fine. They were disoriented anyway and didn't know which way was what. By the second night, they knew where I was and wanted in. A little
scratching on the door but not for too long. By the third night, intense scratching and brutal clawing of the carpet under the door.

They won.









YOU'RE NOT TALKING ABOUT US, ARE YOU? WE WOULD NEVER ACT THAT WAY--NOT KNOWINGLY. LOOK HOW NICE WE ARE.

They're casual about it now and don't rub it in, so that's good. One thing I admire about cats is their total change of attitude (TCA) now and then. They will be doing a no-holds-barred NASCAR circuit around the house, 600 mph, up and down the stairs in a blinding flash, and then all of a sudden TCA. They come to a complete stop, yawn, and then sroll across the room with another yawn. YEAH? WHAT?

This is their high-tech rest room.
The thing has a hydraulic lift in it and you can hear it at night sometimes. It's not quite as romantic as the far-off sound of a locomotive, but comforting in its way.







They are settling into a comfortable routine. I think they are writing a book. I fear it may be a tell-all expose of my house. Gulp.

Later, dear reader
love,
becky