This week I’ve been busy writing Heart of a Cowboy but this morning I’m looking forward to going to see my oldest granddaughter’s first game. She is a cheerleader, and the parents take that as seriously as the football game the girls are cheering at. At least I will.
Yesterday on Facebook I mentioned my youngest cat (she adopted us last year) got curious and snooped around two plastic bags that I left on the counter in the main bathroom to use later. The next thing I know she is flying down the hall–not once but three times. By the third time, I saw why. She had the bags looped around her and they were bellowing out behind her. She managed to get one off but the other was still stuck on her. I couldn’t get to her fast enough to help. She races into the kitchen (I’ve never seen her move that fast) and goes where she feels the safest–behind the refrigerator. I tried to coax her out. She wouldn’t budge. Finally I had to move the refrigerator and take the bag off her before she would come out from behind it. For the rest of the day she avoided the area where she was attacked by the plastic bag. A very traumatic day for her.
