are incredibly scintillating and fascinating, why do you ask?). I mentioned that every morning, if I’m laying on my stomach when the kitten is wanting some Mommy love, she takes her ice-cold paw and pats my side until I wake up and turn over onto my side. "What does she do then?" Fred asked, trying to sound interested. "She flops down so I’ll rub her tummy," I said. "She used to climb up on me and lay like a muffler, but she doesn’t do that anymore." There was a long, long silence while he thought about it. "Um… you mean, she lies on your butt to muffle your farts?" he ventured. Aghast, I partially sat up and stared at him. "NO," I half-yelled. "Like a MUFFLER, a SCARF." "OH!" he said, laughing. "That’s a YANKEE word." He always blames it on my being a Yankee if he misunderstands something I say. I tried to get the kitten to come with me to run errands this morning – hey, other people take their dogs with them, why not take a cat? – but I couldn’t get her into the garage come hell or high water. I guess she remembers that every time I carry her into the garage (though it’s always been in a carrier) someone ends up sticking something up her butt. I guess I wouldn’t be a big fan of the garage in that case, either. —–]]>