Today is Easter Bonnet Day over at the Tabby Cat Club. I’ve worn more Easter bonnets than I care to admit. Last year, TW tried hard to embarrass me. She googled "Embarrassing Easter Bonnets" and "Atrocious Easter Bonnets.” I was forced under threat of starvation to model the ugliest ones. I admit I look stunning in anything, but gimme a break! The collage below shows you pictures of all of the hats of shame and you can decide which one I should wear in this year's Easter Parade down the Avenue—5th Avenue.
Click on the image to biggify it.
I axed you to let me know by number which hat you wanted to see me model in the Easter parade. And to keep your laughter to a low roar.
Being a little ghetto kitteh, I’m used to being profiled and stereotyped. Na mean? I’m sure many of you black panfurs feel the same way. You sat in your cage at the local jail shelter and purrayed that a real cat lover would come in and not stereotype you as a bad luck omen.
Here in the condo, we’re getting ready for next month’s Blogpaws’ conference. My nemesis stand-in HHGutt Plush CK will be heading to Las Vegas. He’s stowing away with Prudence’s Mom and he’s been prepping for his big trip. I want him to make a good impression. Yesterday was laundry day and HHGutt was thrown in with the towels had a bath day along with his furrend Plush Nicky. He’s all squeaky clean and ready to boogie.
HHGutt: Viva Las Vegas! I cannot wait to play the slots and see Britney, even if she doesn’t really sing!
This week I’m taking part in the Caturday Art Blog Hop sponsored by Cat Goddess Athena. I’m using an image that I used in 2011 for Boris Kitty’s SciFi Pawty cos it just so happens that this is the weekend of this year’s SciFi Pawty. As always, it benefits One By One Cat Rescue of Kutztown, PA, a no-kill, non-profut organization. You can Like them on Facebook and donate here or on Boris’ blog where you can bid on some super cool autographs. They also have a special Remembrance Wall where you can put the names of your beloved fur children who went OTRB in the past year. I know I forgot some and am sorry about the omissions.
It’s all about the hand. TW is distressed because of this. Anytime she’s near me, I stare at her hands. I always have to know where they are. She says I don’t trust her after eight and a half years, even though she’s never hit me. I say my motto is “trust no one.” Deal with it, Woman.