Aye, thurrrs the rub.
My landlord’s son brings home scrap and junk all the time, but finally, a gem.
EDIT: Aaaaaand he’s gone. I think the landlord’s son didn’t think about the responsibility of cleaning up poop, so Palomo’s gone somewhere else. Personally, I’m glad. Palomo doesn’t deserve to live amidst the scrap and junk here.
So not a real language.
First Robin of the year, on a succesful hunt
And the first grackle of the year next to my soon to be filled flowerpots.
Grackle? That’s what those birds are called!?! Seems one manages to fly down our chimney every rear, but I never knew what they were called.
Not to mention pillows, beds, watchtowers, climbing gyms and scratching posts.
Ooh! Business idea: a scratching post wrapped in hemmed corduroy that plays recordings of things like, “AAAAA! Fukkin-gah CAT!” and “WWWWWhyyyhh?!” on contact.