Camp Becky

I think she has a boyfriend.  There is a black and white kitty that has been loafing around my driveway for the last few weeks.  I think they had a week long lover’s rendezvous.  I hope so…  one of us could use a boyfriend…  I guess if it can’t be me…  *chuckle chuckle

She’s back.

On Saturday morning, as I was walking behind my building to my garage with one arm full of stuff to take out to the trash and the other with keys, purse and a grocery bag, I look over to the building next to mine and see the little slut herself, Ms. Belle in all of her fat tabby-ness, sitting casually behind the building.  I dropped everything I was carrying and yelled “Belle!” and the little chunk butt came scampering right over, as if to say “Hey, Mom!  What’s up?  I’m hungry!” as though nothing had happened.

Seven days later.  Seven days of me looking like a crazy woman walking up and down my street yelling “Belle!  Here, kitty!” in a total, weird mom-esque sing-songy voice.  My apartment was pretty sad and lonely without her.  And I’ll be honest, I did not manage to get up on time once when that little blob of fur wasn’t piled up on top of me the second my alarm clock went off every morning.

When I brought her back into the apartment, she seemed a little disoriented.  So I took out her Furminator which she immediately recognized and brushed her for a minute.  With that, it all seemed to come back to her and she bolted right into the kitchen and started FFing her food  (to those not versed in Becky-isms, that means “eating very quickly and with ferocity”).  Then I left her to get reacquainted with the place while I headed out on my Saturday morning date with Aunt Amy.

Little whore.  I’m so glad she’s home.

(Please excuse the mess that I call my bedroom in the background of this photo…  unless, of course, you are noting with admiration the white velrco shoes I donned to bring Dora the Explorer to life for Halloween…)