Saturday. Nothing much happened on Thursday and Friday. Visited Dad both days, but he was asleep. Mom said he should rest. I saw him this morning; he was awake, and lucid. He wanted to talk about the importance of having an heir for House Tabby. Believe me, I’m trying. I’ve sired several litters with different queens, but so far no pure tabby males.
It’s difficult to find a good mate here in town. The people here spay and neuter cats. Monsters. There are unspayed strays down by the river, but I wouldn’t touch those skanks.
Mom says there’s a nice tabby queen on Fairfield, next door to Mr. Smiley. Her name is Tabitha, appropriately enough. Seems promising. I’ll have to introduce myself. There are no church socials for cats.
After visiting with Dad, I did my customary Saturday patrol up Main Street. I arrived at Dorabella’s Bookstore just as she began reading aloud for the youngsters. This week’s selection: the latest in the Michael Caterpillar series.
I got a saucer of milk at Cafe Venice. They don’t allow pets inside, but Catherine Bloom saw me and claimed me as her “comfort animal.” Imagine that. Me, a comfort animal.
I love Catherine Bloom.
Next, I went down to Railroad Avenue and sat outside the Red Trolley Diner’s kitchen door. I was expecting a bit of meat or fish, but no luck today.
My luck improved at Ackerman’s Market. Mr. Gutman threw me a chicken liver.
Nothing going on at the Beaune Estate. I explored the library and museum until Mrs. Greenwood threw me out. Bitch.
I checked out Zeppelin Drugs. Katie Zeppelin greeted me. She called me “Roderick’s Cat.” Obviously, she doesn’t know that I own Roderick and not the other way around.
Hungry, I returned home. Mrs. Smith had my foursies ready. I dined, bathed, napped, and gazed out the window.
All for now.