Well ... fireworks... what a horrible racket those things make! I mean, there I was, attempting to take a much-needed nap in between reading chapters, or pages, rather, of my newest novel... and those crazy "bang!", "boom", "crackle", phizz" noises just seemed to keep going on and on.
My owner seemed not to care. She was buried in her own book, sitting, legs propped up on my scratchy box (which she tells me is something called a "foot stool"). She was NOT paying me any attention. I worried quietly on my end of the love seat while the loud noises seemed to be coming closer and closer... or maybe I was imagining it. I mean, I do have an active imagination.
Why is it called a "love seat"? I mean, I love my owner and all, especially when she feeds me, rubs my ears and makes the bouncy fish run around the house, but I don't really feel any unusual amounts of love when I am lazing about upon said "love seat".
Perhaps one of you wise and learned girls or boys can illuminate for me (That means that because you're so smart, maybe you can inform me as to why the love seat is so named)?
I have to go now, my owner is in the mysterious "closet under the stairs" again. She keeps going in there and lugging out these huge, apparently heavy boxes which seem to make me sneeze my whiskers off. No matter. It is a new place to explore. I
have to get in there. I
must know the dark, dusty, smelly place that is the closet under the stairs... Can you distract her whilst I sneak into new uncharted territory? Oh, good.... the phone thingy rang and she left the door open! Check me now, I'm a like a SKIDMARK I move so fast!