Freaky Friday

This is Miss Kitty. She is almost 4 years old, and the most spoiled cat on the planet. And it's my own damned fault. The monster I created demands attention from the moment I get up in the morning. Not just, "Feed me," attention. Not just, "Pet me," attention. No, it's in your face, rub my nose against your lips, crawl on your lap, dig my claws into your legs, constant MEOWing attention. I'm worried that she's neurotic. Or that I'm neurotic. Can cats be co-dependent? Does she think I'm her mother cat? Am I projecting my desire for future grandchildren on her? Should I knit her a little cap and layette? Blue would match her eyes ....



And this is Caroline. Caroline is currently in France, as part of a college study program. She's been gone since the beginning of June, and I miss her. She called me today, but I was in Court, arguing with an attorney I refer to as "a real prince." Prince of Darkness that is. So, I missed the call, and back at the office decided to call France. (Remember the Coneheads from SNL? "We are from France.") I dredged up the remnants of my high school French class from the recesses of my brain, and dialed. Here's how the conversation went:

"Bonjour," says a nice male voice.
"Bonjour," I reply. "Je suis la mere de Caroline." (I am Caroline's mother -- or, I am Caroline's sea, I'm not sure which).
"Ah", the man replies, and rattles of several sentences which sound like "Caroline! djdhgfhworueklvnvlsleuiwowklsldkdjfjkfllla ne pas ici."
"Je will call back, uh, demain? tomorrow?"
"Hui wklkdjkj le plage jfidiosjflkhjeljoiasjglkj," the man says.
"Merci," I say meekly.
"Au revoir."
"Au revoir."

If the Department of Homeland Security was listening, will they please call and let me know what the man said?

And finally, this is to make me feel better. It's a lovely sculpture in Rochester's Memorial Art Gallery. See how graceful she is? How lovely the curves of her body? How big her be-hind is? How she doesn't care

a whit about it? (What's a whit, anyway?) I caught a glimpse of my self in the mirror today, and have decided that if I don't get serious about excercising, I'll need to apply to the U.S. Postal service for a separate zip code for my butt.

But (couldn't resist), as I've said in the past, real women have hips. Think I can knit an outfit like that? In blue?

Time to start the weekend ... and to practice my French -- think a few "Pink Panther" movies will help? hee hee