My cat is my grandma

I was sick today and picked the green chair in the window spot to sit and read and drink tea. The chair that belonged to Grandma Bizarre’s father. The comfortable one, with old green upholstery. I’d started earlier The Invisible Man, who proved to be, as he was quickly replaced with a cat. This cat is a cross of a Siamese and a Fuzzball, with crossed blue eyes and all. She is aptly named Smoochie, and sometimes when her nose touches yours, it makes a spark from all the static built up between her and your wool sweater. It did this time. She seemed very interested in my tea, in a Cathy mug, with lines of tiny hearts, stating: “Love is the answer”…Isn’t it?” The mug belonged to Scottie, who was a cheerful sweet woman who I was privileged to call a grandmother. Her son was my mom’s best friend who died too soon. When my mom adopted the cat, she was surprisingly pregnant (please enjoy the extreme syntactic ambiguity of this sentence). Smoochie begot Solo the one and only son in a litter. She snuggled back in and purred as the connection grew in my brain and I pet her extra nicely. She gave me one more spark kiss before we parted from the chair as if to say, “it is.”

About Ambria

I amuse myself. I hope you like it too.
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