So there I was, minding my own business, lying about and then they came home. I sniffed the rucksack, not the usual one, I'd already given that a good kicking with my special rolling/kicking fierce-a-cise, and I could smell it. It all came flooding back to me, the ground floor quarters I had to live in, the clanging of the gates, the smell of disenfectant, the constant visitors, the meewing, the staring from my fellow misfortunates and the firm but fair waitresses. It could only mean one thing: The Cats Protection League!
What does this mean? Surely I am not to return there, am I??
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Dear Sasha,
I don't like to worry you but, if there are still five bowls for food and water, then those owners of yours haven't got just you in mind. They are thinking of another Olivka. Perhaps it is time to make your feelings known, before it is too late...
lots of love,
A Rather Smugger and Not So Fat Cat
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