A Follower

Holy cow I have a follower!!! I must say, my follower is a wonderful person whom I try to emulate and think, WWDMD?

Tonight: Ashley, the queen of all there is. My baby, she is a rescued kitten. Ok, rescued from my wonderful sister-in-law's posh townhouse...after she rescued Ashley from the bushes at the age of 6 weeks old. Full of parasites. Starving to death. Yeah, my rescue pales in comparison.

Ashley is now a big 6 months old and just had her "I will never be a mommy" operation. Home three days and she still does not understand the concept of major surgery. Or why the other cats do not like her now that she smells like the vets. Who is she kidding, they really did not like her before. Endy does. He wants to smell her butt - she does not like that. She smells different to him and that darned Golden Retriever nose will not stop. At least she gets to kill his tail, which he does not like.

Here she is, my little terror. Attacking feet in the middle of the night, bugging her sisters, killing the tail on the big dumb dog and trying to get Geico's crickets (Geico is the gecko, her name was Zach when we thought she was a boy, then I sexed her and the boy we named her after was not pleased with Zacharella so she became Geico). Yes, now she is going after my fingers on the keyboard. The baby gate is to keep Endy, the big dumb dog, in the back of the house so he does not get on the new sofa in the front (there is one in the back for him).

So thus is Ashely, queen of all there is. Just don't tell the other cats because they think they are the queens of all there is as well. They are probably right; my husband, son and I are just the peasants.