Victory (ball)!!

Meg and I played Rock, Paper, Mega to determine whose post would go at the top of the page today. She's off in the corner nursing her paper-covered rock wounds.

I'd like to discuss this thing the people's call "the shower".

How can the furless ones survive in that water torture box? You're trapped and surrounded by pummelling water molecules in some attempt to get "clean". Why can't they use their tongues to clean up?

This photo is of my first experience with the wet place.

I remember the first time I saw Mom get in the torture closet. I cried my baby heart out to warn her of the danger of being soaked, but she just said it was OK. Every time we change homes, Mom gets in a new water box and I have to look in there to see what's going on. Then I cry some for her soul.

The other day, Mom was in the water box and I was spying on her. She reached her hand out to me so I thought she wanted help. I pulled on her arm to get her out from the dangerous droplets, but she resisted. I don't get it...