Not much on my agenda today, other than whipping my assistant into shape. The storm last night laid waste to my salad garden on the deck, so someone has to clean things up, and, of course, that someone is not me.
P.S. Lovely. I can hear it raining again. That means another day stuck inside…
One day I’d like to visit Craig Grant’s Caboodle Ranch in Florida, a cat haven for 500 strays.
Grant, a retired contractor, built the 30-acre cat nirvana so homeless cats could kick it old school. Caboodle’s like an actual town, complete with city hall, a police department, a chapel (for quickie weddings!), a kitten elementary school and even a kitty Walmart. I’m thinking about renting one of the lake front cabins this summer.
Sometimes I wonder how long I’ll be able to sustain this lavish lifestyle. Sure, staying up all night and partying like a rock star has its perks. I have what most cats would kill for: girls (well, one girl), an endless supply of gravy and a *really* silky coat.
I love the night life. I love to boogie. But now and again I wonder — what if I were just a lap cat? It seems like such a relaxing life.
Perhaps in a few years I’ll settle down…
For now, I’ll just keep doing what I do best: being a sexy mutha trucka. I’m a playa. It’s what I was born to do, and I must fulfill my destiny.