spatch

I was rather disconcerted earlier this evening when Mr. Abbie darted out the front door when it was left open but briefly. He dashed out into the street and down the sidewalk and disappeared into the night. I called and I ran down the street with an open can of tuna but all I got was a bunch of new cat friends, all of whom turned out to be very displeased when they realized that I wasn't exactly throwing a Cat Party for them. I walked back home, cat-less, tuna-less, but still smelling of albacore.

But then, a little bit after midnight, I heard a familiar sound of scratching at the front door. It must've been Abbie. I know a "let me in" scratch when I hear it; he does it enough to my bedroom door when it's closed. I figured maybe he got bored of running around, or maybe he met a big dog and the dog didn't like him, so I went down and let him in.

And wouldn't you know...

Looks like SOMEONE had decided to go on a mission!

He really wanted to read it first, but it's hard to turn the pages when you don't have opposable thumbs. So I think I'm going to have to read it to him. For him. You know.

There really was an adventure tonight but it was mine, not his, and tomorrow when I can better piece together the wonder and amazement I had over the fact that there was an entire celebration for a book, I'll tell you all about it.