Pants, The Essential Accessory

My pants are not on fire today. That's a personal best. Next, I work on the cat hair sticking to my tongue.

I used to wander around with a hamster in my pants pocket until I found out it was in there. I'm smarter now, but lonelier.

Mom said I should talk to you about something, but before I ask what it might be I'll wait and see if you want to check out that pants fire you seem to have going on.

There was a clump of hair on the street. I never pass a clump of hair without at least a second look. However, when I stooped to scoop it up, it scuttled away. Ran right up a man's pants and disappeared under his morning coat. What happened after that will have to remain in strictest confidence.

Pets on parade. Mine is the yellow slime crawling up that guy's pants.

CatzenDogs

A stray cat followed me home. I think I'll call him Ben. Ben there, ate that — the neighbor's cat, the neighbor's dog, the neighbors, and so on. Has real pretty eyes. Watches everything I do.

Had a fair first day wearing my chicken suit around town, except while washing up in the neighbor's back yard after the "noodle incident". He came out all red and flustered, said I was scaring the sparrows — but isn't it a bird bath? Some people don't get it, do they?

My sister adopted yet another stray cat. This one is named Clive. Used to be a don out by Oxford country. Knows a lot about medieval metallurgy. Partial to tuna and leftover dog food.

How did cat hair get onto my tongue?

So, today is the 10th of my favorite month, Francesca, named after my favorite drink, el Agua del Gato Negro (water of the black cat), which has some significance in the local culture, which is Andalusian-German-Senegalise, and for some reason has Castellano as its native language. All a mystery to me, but I am clueless in so many ways that I am seldom surprised by anything anymore, though frequently startled by such things as shoelaces, toothpicks, and the mystery of Fernando Poo.

Today I was approached by a beak. It was running away from a bird — something about unfulfilled expectations and irreconcilable differences. I gave it to the cat. He's always wanted to fly. This might be a good start. Who can say? He looks good with it, but really should try in on his front end, is my opinion on the subject.

Today I was approached by a beak. It was running away from a bird. Said it was tired of being called a pecker. And prone to airsickness. I had crackers and cheese for lunch. My new pecker had worms. We might be friends.

I bought a bag of hair last week. It's the kind of thing that when you need it, you need it — right now. So anyhow, I'm prepared for the worst, though the cat is suspicious, as usual. The two of us need to have another talk.

I once had a hamster who wanted a law degree but after he ate the cat I convinced him to go into showbiz. Now he manages Arnold Schwarzenegger. Good move, Squeaky.