Tell-tail

One of my cats is a squealer.

She doesn't meow plaintively to attract passing tomcats. She'd have great difficulty doing that from the confines of a third-floor flat. Even if she weren't spayed.

Nor does she serenade the full moon or late at night when her human servants are trying to sleep. 

Oh no. This kitty is a tell-tale, a blabberer, a grass, a snitch.

The Joy Of Hangovers . . it's all about the sex and bacon

Your eyes open and the umpa band start off testing their foot pumps on the big drum in your head. Movement, yeah, let's try getting up.  The once rhythmical beat now steps it up to number 11, brain is now thumping and screaming at the inside of the skull, it would seem your brain wants out.  

Learning A New Language by a Noniglot

It is fair to say that unlike my sister-in-law who who is a polyglot and speaks fluent English (oh, she's German by the way), French, Spanish, German (obvs) and some others I can't recall, I am a noniglot.  I glot in no other tongue but the mother, and for me that is English (I am figuring that you guessed that bit).

Web

Spiraling
spinning
the flutter unnoticed, time and space
an open silent yawn.
No grace
here.
Falling thickly,
dense with expectation
wrapped so tightly it chokes.
At the bottom.
Dead
solid invisible.
But then
filament, twining lace
fuses, glowing
with connection.

IF HAYNES DID OWNERS MANUALS FOR CATS AND DOGS . . . The cats would burn them

One of them is plotting, the other enjoying the sun

In my span on this round spinny thing, I have been the owner of Goth, Hamlet, Jasper, Pippa & Jess, all of which were cats.  I have also been the owner of Judas, Jack, Nikki and (still owning) Sasha all of which were/are dogs.  Apart from the obvious different species thing, these furry compadres we allow into our home are so streets apart from each other it is unreal.  There is a gaping chasm of what we allow one species to do, and what we allow the other.  I shall proffer some explanations for you:

Eight Minutes.

I'm not the most, er, confident flyer.

There's something about being hurtled through the air in a big heavy metal object that is unnatural and wrong.

Yes, I know, physics, science, Newton's laws, Bernoulli, etc, etc.

It doesn't change my feeling: planes are not NATURAL.

Akimbo

It's not exactly the world's most flattering position. But I've been in worse. Even voluntarily.

Lying almost flat out on my back with my knees higher than my head, the view is certainly interesting. Though more interesting for some than for others. After all, I'm well acquainted with my own junk. I'm just grateful I thought to get a trim last week, and the redness and swelling has had time to disappear. Otherwise I really would be a sight for sore eyes. Because, as every girl knows, bushy is not pretty.