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See what I mean about wood floors as camouflage for orange cats? It's even better in low light situations.
My grandma had a cat named Scooter.
Men. I've been taking care of my own business for decades. For example, in the early '60s, the first permanent press shirts were super scratchy and uncomfortable. I hated them. My mom made me a deal: I could have cotton shirts if I ironed them myself. I was the oldest of 5, and my mom was the night administrator of a hospital. She had no time for ironing. So, that's what I did. My younger brothers got permanent press. Ha ha ha, lazy f'ers. And I learned how to bake when I was 4. I was pretty good at it, but did make the occasional mistake. Like the time my mom wasn't around and I wanted a cherry pie. I put a can of cherries in a pie tin and fired the oven up. The can exploded, blowing the oven door off and shooting cherries all over the kitchen. No one was hurt. By the explosion, that is. The spanking I got did hurt.Invalid Link Removed
