Cute Overload

Seriously, I’m so organized, it’s scary:

• I always wash myself in a set pattern (right leg, left leg, right arm, left arm);
• I sort my dead mousies by length, then by color, then by tail-to-torso ratio;
• I sleep in the same sunbeam every day, using a weighted algorithm factoring seasonal solar variance against known shade points to determine each day’s optimum floor position and angle of exposure.

So why do people keep saying I’m disorganized?

I dunno, Pam W., just a feeling.

Day 17:  I have established base camp at the foot of the treacherous south face, whose sheer, forbidding vertical surface has claimed many an explorer before me.  With the monsoon storms just days away, I must make every precious minute count as I inch my way to the fabled Ceiling of Coyolxauhuiehecatl — and history.

I claim this post in the name of Erin C.!

The piano is my forte, and I love to lie down in it,
It suits my laid-back at-etude, I don’t care how you spinet.
When I’m keyed up, can’t stay upright, life’s tempo gets too taxing,
I lie for just a minuet, and presto! I’m relaxing.

I’m never too Bizet to take a nap where notes are rolling,
When melodies float like the breeze, this console’s quite consoling.
So play whatever song you like; Chopsticks to Clair de Lune-a,
For where there’s a piano, I expect piano tuna.

We all octave a kitty like that, Kristina V.