Thursday, March 20, 2008
Now for the final ingredient inThe Writer's Easter basket. The basket! We have the Peeps and the stuffed bunny. Now we need the perfect basket lined with cellophane grass.
You're not getting me in a basket. I refuse!
I don't like baskets. They scare me.
How can anybody be afraid of a basket? Come to think of it, you don't crawl in boxes or hide in empty grocery bags like other cats.
I have a phobia of closed spaces. They remind me of cat carriers and you know what that means. Shots and thermometers.
Be strong--it's for The Writer. There you go! Do you know the baskets we are sitting in are over a hundred years old.
That explains the smell. Uh-oh. I feel a panic attack coming on!