How many of you grew up wanting to write an advice column? Okay, okay, Randy, you can put your hand down now. We all know you’re dying to be the next Dr. Phil, but this is my blog so save your gems of wisdom for the comments section.
In my lower-middle-management supervisor position, people invade my office from time to time to tell me about a “friend” who’s knee deep in kitty litter and just discovered the little treasures they’re turning over aren’t Chicken McNuggets. That’s when I refer them to authority on the subject, Tabby.
The Friday Flash Fictioneer photo for this week is courtesy of Scott L. Vannatter. To read other fascinating cat-tales visit our hostess, Raquel Wisoff-Fields blog, http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ and click on the little blue InLinz critter to find links other author’s blogs.
My caregivers, Mistress Anne and Servant Bob, act like I don’t exist when Christmas comes. They run from one event to another like gravy through a goose, all the while ignoring the center of their universe—ME. How can I get them back in line? – Felix in Phoenix
It’s time to slam down your paw and extend the claws. A little spray in Bob’s truck or golf bag would send the message that you own him—for life. Shred a curtain and drop Anne a few unexpected gifts in hard to reach places. After all, it is the season for giving. – Tabby