Minutes after Chazz went to heaven, Aunt Barbara called my mommy to share the sad news. We grieve with her because Chazz has been much loved by us starting way back to 2011 when my big brofur Hwermie invited Chazz to sing in the Christmas choir. Chazz told Hwermie that he was Jewish. Hwermie said that's great. We will sing Chanukah songs too, and my momma made Chazz an avatar for the concert.
There were a lot of pwizes in the box, even some for my Momma. A bwacelet, and a keychain and a note book with pen, and a change purrrse, which intrigued me, but then Momma showed me what was inside the purrrple tissue papurr... and this is what happened.
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Today I want to discuss Closet Space, or lack thereof. Let me say right up fwont, I do not purrsonally own a closet. Nor do I see actual need for closets.
It is my opinion that closets are the Devil's invention, meant to inflict fwustwashun and anger issues by tempting hoomoms to be so sentimental about old stuff, that they cannot bear to let go, even long after it has ceased to spark joy. Not exactly a quote from Marie Kondo, but if yoo have overstuffed closets, then yoo get my point.
Why am I always made out to be the villain? Okay, so maybe I can be a bit more enthusiastic about life. I'm almost four, and every day is a new oppurrrtoo
nity for a great adventure.
Like today. Mom bought some cool triangle boxes. What a great idea! They felt amazing under my paws. Fresh and unique. Cool and comfortapurr. All I wanted was to enjoy these new boxes, but then along comes Miss Bweaking Nooz repurrtor Dori, and next thing I know, my plans to enjoy these boxes turns into a big deal.
I'm thinking Dori and the Gang make stuff a Big Deal just because I saw it first. Pffft!
Momma had every intention of helping me write my Tuesday column, but she had to take the loooong way home because there was a horry-bill accident on the freeway and twaffic was backed up for over ten miles and at least two hours, if not more. So now all she wants to do is take a nap. So, today's Tuesday column is a re-run of a Cat-toon from our old house where George and Gracie Geese visited with their babies last spring. We sure do miss seeing them. Now all we get at this house are deer doggos and huuuuge owls sitting in branches over our Catio, staring at ME with a hangry look in their eyes. I nearly peed my purrrple underpants the other day.
Okay, on wif the show!
