Don’t you love Sunday morning? Everyone is respectful of the day and things are pretty quiet on Sunday morning. I remember when I was a little kid, growing up in Pennsylvania. EVERYTHING was closed.

That made me hate Sundays.

First, I had to get dressed up, complete with white gloves and hat, and spend an hour in church. That was the most excruciating hour of my week. Of course, I was little remember, so I really didn’t see the reason to have to put all the uncomfortable stuff on and sit there for an hour and be silent. Argh! It was torture.

Having lost all religion in later life (not my beliefs, just that religion), I’ve come to appreciate Sunday. No work. No need to get up on time for anything, and it’s pretty amazing.

Except for Rain Kitty. He’s having issues this morning. He wants in; he wants out; he wants food; he doesn’t want food; he wants treats; he doesn’t want treats. He’s very stressed out and we’re not sure why. I’d worry about an earthquake, except those are few and far between here in Florida, though we did have one since I moved here in 1999.

I’m guessing he’s worried about whatever lives in this house with us. I used to have pictures of it. Orbs on the wall, and I even got one in motion once, like a white streaky blur skittering along the floor.

But the pictures just POOF! Disappeared off my computer. I didn’t delete them. They didn’t crash. The folder now tells me it’s corrupted and can’t be viewed. Hmm… Makes you wonder, eh?

Anyway, both cats watch and chase it all the time. They try to follow it through walls and cry when they can’t.

I’m guessing it’s the cat that died here — Pearl. She was a blue-point Siamese, and the most beautiful cat you’d ever want to see. ALL the boy cats loved her.

So, that’s what I choose to believe. This Sunday, Fitz is trying to meet up with Pearl, though I’m not sure why. She was kind of mean to him. It’s those beautiful blue eyes that the guys just can’t resist.

My Pearly can stay with me forever. This Sunday, I think she just wants to hang, which is jes’ fine with me.

P. S. Can you believe that I’ve been searching for an image of Pearl or a photo to scan, and they’re missing, too! This pic is terrible, but right after we found her. (She was hit by a car and we saved her.) She was just a baby then, but lived to be 21 years old.

But seriously, what’s going on around here? Come on, Baby (my pet name for Pearl). Spill yer guts.

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