Well, I'm back. I had a wonderful time at the Hope and Glory Inn. I'm glad one of us did. Don't sound so bitter. It wasn't that bad. It was horrible! The guards threw slop at us and guard dogs barked day and night. I couldn't sleep a wink. I tried to break out, but I got caught.That's not what I heard. When The Writer came to pick you up from the vet's, you ran back in your kitty condo. She and

Stay close to the floor, cat. Nobody will see us. We're out the door! Good job! Now, over the wall . . . look sharp! Oh, no! There's the spotlight! We're caught! The sirens are deafening! Here come the guards! We'll be sent up the river to the Big House![Our last morning at the Hope and Glory Inn. The Writer is lingering in the gardens, taking pictures. She doesn't want to leave. I don't blame

Okay, here's what's going down: me and this cat in solitary want to make a break for it. Before the guards have their second cup of coffee, One-eyed Jake will loosen the latches on our cells. Then me and the other cat will lay in wait.Every day at noon the Kibble Guy makes a delivery. Jake will create a diversion when he comes in the lobby. Me and the other cat will scram out the door and hide in

I'm making claw marks on the wall of my cell. Two long, miserable days. The guard who tosses me mealy kibble told me The Writer (my "owner," he called her, as if) and her husband are off on some fancy trip. There's a one-eyed cat here named Jake. He's a lifer and is allowed outside. I think you call that a trustee. Anyway, he says he can spring me from this joint. We're making plans--uh-oh. Gotta

I knew something was fishy when they dragged me to the vet last week! The Writer got out that horrible cat carrier again. But I didn't go easy. It took two men and a boy to capture me and get me in that thing. And where did they take me this time?Jail!!! Lock-up! I am behind bars!It's so humiliating. A tiny cell with a rag for a bed, a stainless steel bowl of water (I miss my Garfield bowl), and

Did you see what happened yesterday? There I was, taking my early afternoon nap, when I was rudely snatched up by The Writer and stuffed in the cat carrier!Stuffed is right. I thought she'd have to use a battering ram to get you in it.And then we went to the vet's! The Writer even had the nerve to take my picture there. I got two shots and that blasted thermometer. And the vet said I need to

Is my time up yet?You were just sent in there for waking everybody up at 4:04 this morning. And 4:15 yesterday. And 4:40 the morning before that. Can I help it my stomach-clock is set a little early? The Writer doesn't appreciate you digging at the bedroom door at that ridiculous hour. Neither do I!Being sent to the powder room for Time-Out is cruel and unusual punishment. When I get out of here,

Run for your lives! Head for the hills! Every cat and stuffed animal for himself!What are you talking about?The Writer gave up sugar, haven't you heard? Life in this house will be utter misery. The crankiness. The moodiness. The yowling. The tantrums.Sounds like one of your typical days. Yes, The Writer has made the brave decision to give up sugar and refined flour. That means no "cookie" for you

Will you look at this hideous thing? It's a disgrace.That's The Writer's favorite sweater. She wears it every Easter and to spring school visits. What's wrong with it?Stacy London and Clinton Kelly would scream if they saw this on their show What Not To Wear. This sweater would be the first thing they'd throw in the trashcan.What do you know about that TV show? We don't even have cable.I saw a

I see The Writer has fixed an Easter basket for Her Husband, like she does every year. With a bunny a grown man wouldn't want and all her favorite candy.Well, it's a tradition. The Writer loves Easter. The basket is over 100 years old. It came from a general store that had been closed for over 50 years. And she's had it for many years herself.She had a little problem with the candy this year,

What's all this stuff?Just looking at one of The Writer's Easter displays. She loves Easter and puts out vintage postcards and greeting cards and books about bunnies and duckies. And this book.The Velveteen Rabbit. What's that about?This is my favorite book of all time. I'm reading it again because of something The Writer said when she came back from her last school visit. She shows slides of you

You're back! Obviously.When did you get home? What happened? Did you like it at Becky's blog?Becky is really nice. She fed me way better kibble than what I get here. And she made me Head Book Reviewer, but--But what?She found out I can't read any words besides "the," "cat," and "food." So I came home.Did you tell her goodbye properly?I gave her a great big wet nose-kiss. We're cool. It's all good

Oh, man. I've never seen so many books. All I do is read, read, read. My whiskers are limp, I've read so much. Ellsworth was right. Becky put me to work right away on her blog.WINCHESTER! THE PHONE IS RINGING!Yes, Miss Becky, I'll get it. Hello-Becky's-Book-Reviews-You-Got-A-Warehouse-Full-Of-Books-We'll-Review-'Em-Overnight. It's for you, Miss Becky. Hyperion wants their entire spring and summer

What're you doing with all this food? Leaving, that's what. Running away again? The last time you ran off was when you thought I was going to Hollins University with The Writer last summer. The Writer and me had a big fight over at her new blog. So I'm going to find a new blog.You have a blog. Ours. You don't appreciate me. My talents, charm, and good looks are wasted here. So where are you

We haven't done Poetry Friday in months. Winchester and I decided to do it today, but he's nowhere around. Hmmmm. Well, I'll post myself. Today's selection is from a collection of poetry I found on The Writer's shelves. It's called Everything and Anything by Dorothy Aldis (1925)."Night and Morning"The morning sits outside afraidUntil my mother draws the shade;Then it bursts in like a ball,

Hey, how come you're hiding in the corner of The Writer's office?I don't know. I feel kind of blah.What's wrong?The Writer has this new blog. You know what that means. Nobody will ever hear from us again.I know about the new blog, Under the Honeysuckle Vine. The Writer told me she's going to keep up both blogs. Maybe only post once a week on ours. After all, you have fans out there.Maybe The

The Writer just got back from visiting Matoaca Elementary school. She did a slide show that had pictures of Yours Truly. The Writer told her husband all the kids asked questions about me. How old I am. How much did I weigh (I hope she fibbed about that). What did I like to do for fun. One kid asked if I did school visits! I think I should! You hate to ride in the car, remember?That's because

Ellsworth: Oooh, this is so sudden!Winchester: Wha? What year is it? What's going on? Why am I in this get-up?We're getting married!We haven't been on this blog for two months . . . I thought it was shut down. And now you tell me we're getting married?Okay, we're not really getting married. We're pretending we're The Writer and Her Husband. Valentine's Day is their 30th wedding anniversary. The

It's Christmas morning. Not too cold outside, no snow, no rain. Typical December day in Virginia. Winchester, are you awake?[yawn]. Yeah. The Writer is still in bed. And she went to bed early last light, like always.She was tired of chasing you away from the old village houses and bottle-brush trees and celluloid reindeer on the sideboard. That's The Writer's favorite display--she's particular

At last, all the hustle and bustle in this house is finished. Not a cat is stirring . . . Winchester is conked out on The Writer's afghan on the bed, someplace he is not supposed to sleep. But a lot is forgiven during the holiday season. The Writer has had Christmas music playing since Thanksgiving Day. Not like her--she usually rails against "too much Christmas." But maybe she's mellowing in her

The Writer absolutely loves all things Margaret Wise Brown. She is pleased to be a "Hollins Girl" like Margaret (and Margaret's mother)--She's pretty old to be any kind of girl. And that's a terrible picture!Once you graduate from Hollins University, you are a Hollins girl, no matter what your age. Anyway, before The Writer went to Hollins, she earned her M.F.A. in writing for children at

In our house, Gustaf Tenggren's The Little Match Girl is displayed on the coffee table in the den, a place of honor. I'm surprised because The Writer doesn't really like Tenggren that much. Like most kids from the 50s, she grew up on Golden Books, including the famous The Poky Little Puppy andThe Shy Little Kitten. She liked the stories, but not the illustrations.The mole, particularly its feet,

We are way behind on vintage books, so I'm going to catch up this week with Vintage Tuesday, Vintage Wednesday, and Vintage Thursday. Other people set out candles and hang holly wreaths--The Writer decorates with books. I've been looking over her vintage Christmas books. Today we'll talk about The Littlest Angel by Charles Tazewell, illustated by Katherine Evans.The Writer remembers having the

Saturday I was taking a long afternoon nap. I was having visions of Mousies in my head when somebody rudely snatched me up from my nice warm spot and hauled me into the dining room."Picture time!" The Writer said. She proceeded to tie a wide pink ribbon around my neck, then stood me on the dining room table--a place I am NEVER allowed to be--and said, "Look lively!"The Writer had posed me by an

Look, it snowed last night. Our first snow of the year.A half inch. Still, it's pretty. The Writer opened the window. She does that sometimes to air out the bedroom. Yeah . . . I smell me some squirrels!Hmmm. The screen latches are loose. Help me push the screen up. There! How brave are you?I swiped The Writer's Husband's chicken leg off the table last night. The Writer said I was cruising. That