and i'm pretty sure that's not it for her.
fletcher, my tabby, is at it again.
what is she up to, you ask?
macking out in the penalty box.
rustle rustle scratch scratch silence.
no tearing off like a bat out of hell.
no scrapping the side walls.
then- there she was again, chin resting on the plastic edge, squeezy-eyed and care-free.
like a lazy pimp on a sunday afternoon.
like a fictitious woman in a tampon commercial.
like.. the mack
okay, maybe not that cool, but who can really say?
either way, she was definitely macking in the crapper, cat-style.
i am serious.
you wish my cat was your cat, really you do.
she's the sweetest, oddest, sneak-attackiest cat ever. EVER.
and she chills in the cat box.
what the heck was my cat thinking?
let me know in the comment area.