Cats Don't Wear Underpants.

This is what The One Called Elena does all day when she's not at home letting me shed on her. Gets her picture taken holding up a ginormous pair of underpants. The reason is because of a "play," as she calls it, named "The Underpants." Well, I don't know if those are THE underpants, but they are definitely SOME underpants. Whatever. Not like they'd ever let me go see the play anyway. And by "they," I mean the squirrels. The One Called Elena has been bopping all over the house, saying these stupid sentences from the play over and over again. I try to correct her when she gets a sentence wrong (I've memorized the script already, you see), but all that comes out is "Mew, Mrow, Reeeow.." and so forth. Sucky. The "play" is next month at the City Theatre, whatever that means. I'm tired of writing about someone other than myself. I think I'm going to go and shed on something. Peace out, mofos.