Monday, July 16, 2007
I have now given up on my heart attack sessions each time Frankie climbs up onto the beams. I have realized that there is nothing I can do. He's a cat, and unless I build walls, he will get to them.
SO here he sits, 6 feet above my head, watching me cook supper for his two sisters. Yes...I cook for my dogs. Ground turkey...very rare.
This leads me to tell you a story about what happened while MOMMY was away at the workshop last week.
For some reason, MR. Frank is infatuated with the fridge. One night, while cooking supper, I heard him crying, and he was on the bottom shelf.
So as I left for Vermont, I kindly reminded my DH about this infatuation...to which he replied the typical..."Honey, don't worry. He won't get into the fridge or the blender or the toilet...relax."
And the call came in on Saturday at 4:30. "Frankie is fine...but he'd been in the fridge for 9 and a half hours."