My humans have left me in the care of someone else for a few months. Why? So that they can spend the summer in their palatial (well, not really) estate (okay, it's part of a 600-year-old fort) in the south of France (out in the sticks).
They spoke of it like a priveledge to me - "Hossie!" they said, speaking the "o" they think is in my name - "Hossie, you get to be the uncle to five kittens!"
These little brats won't leave me alone. They're better than human kids, because I'm bigger than them
but they're equally addicted to the Sponge that is Bob. I don't understand this Bob fellow. Sponges are for cleaning up after the little kittens while they're learning how to use The Box. Sponges are not supposed to wear pants.
I don't know if this is related, but I'm curious as to what pineapple tastes like now.
So while my old human marrieds were trying to convince me that this was a far far better thing than I thought, they neglected to mention the REAL reason they wanted me out of the house: Carlota ("with ONE T!" as they often say) the French Harpie Cat.
Hah. I'm calling her Carlotta. Just to spite her. The harpie. I'd call her something obscene in French, but it makes me sound sort of fey.
The kittens are swiping at my tail. I'm going to go turn on CSPAN and try to put them into a coma. If all else fails, I'm hatching a nasty plot involving some Fancy Feast and a plastic bag.