Feline domesticus

Ever wary of his vulnerability, Not-Our-Cat looks for would be assailants in the peaceful gardens of the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. the Face of Everyman is alarmed by his very presence.

Low tide in the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa coincided with Sunrise thus a perfect time for a drink. the Face of Everyman couldn’t imagine who would drink this putrid swill.

Somehow the old adage:”curiosity killed the cat.” leapt into the mind of the Face of Everyman on this scorcher of a night in the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa.

The Ginger cat strode confidently thru the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. the Face of Everyman wondered if she was the reason so few birds came to roost in this peak tourist season.

Ginger was back to the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa without a word to excuse her absence. Known for playing with her food; the Face of Everyman observed her batting about a French Fry. Cats don’t eat French Fries; do they?

As if he didn’t have enough problems running the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa the Face of Everyman saw that there was a new mouth to feed. Who was this new interloper?

Lately everything smelled like fried chicken to Boots. Seems that others had been here first; the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa was starting to get too crowded. the Face of Everyman was oblivious to the smell as he was in REM.

Not-Our-Cat as seen traipsing thru the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa after a successful night of evading coyotes. the Face of Everyman had lost count of how many lives that cat had remaining.

It was Panther’s first visit to the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa since his parole. He wasn’t sure whether his was poaching or trespassing. the Face of Everyman was sure to tell him; sooner or later.

Boots asked the proverbiale question: “When’s Summer.” the Face of Everyman pointed to the sign. Now gone; stolen by the Gipsies. Drat.