50 tinfoil balls to 1 orange furball

My pet told me I had to blog. I was sleeping ontop of the fridge.

I moved. I decided it was time. I'm not the type of cat to hang around one spot for long. I like to move things around. I wanted to move to Alaska and wrestle polar bears. I wanted to move to Halifax and swim the atlantic shores. I wanted to move to Armstrong and kill the hawk that nearly ate my family. I wanted to go to Australia and live with Dingoes. But no.

I moved in with Chuck.

He lives in a house with Jenn (pet's sister, or lady who drives my pet to school). He now sleeps on the bed with my pet and I at night. I often wake up with washed ears. He's weird that way. We run a lot. Sometimes we jump at each other froms great heights. Most of the time we just kick each others ass on the carpets. Jenn's fine. She bought Chuck and I a bed but keeps on hogging it. She feeds us and brushes us. I don't mind.

For awhile we lived with Ativan. She's like a cat, but she's not. It was like she wanted me to bite her. I think it was just to get me into trouble.

My pet told me she found over 50 of my crunched up tinfoil balls hidden in the armchair and under the stove. I think that's great. I prefer this orange furball to them though. Tinfoil doesn't chase me up the scratching post but tinfoil also doesn't enjoy the laundry room like I do.

Laundry is great.