Shh, Don’t Tell Jillian

Hobbes the cat here. I’ve taken over Jillian’s post since she’s been a lazy bum. She started mentioning last week that she had her Backyard day coming up but then she left me with the men in the house and ran off to some stupid book signing in Atlanta, Georgia. She had the nerve to be gone for two nights, too. Doesn’t she know those guys aren’t swayed by my sad eyed stare that means, “I need a snack and I need it now”? See photo for the look. Who can resist that? Yeah, I know. Those guys who live here.

Anyway, Jillian finally dragged her carcass back home late on Sunday and mentioned this post again but still sat around working on something she calls a WIP. Hmmm. Sounds dangerous, doesn’t it?

She talked yet again about doing the post and setting it to go off on time on Monday night but that night, she read some book about that Tudor King who liked to marry and kill women. What kind of nut was he? She said it was for research. Research, smesearch. Not a fun topic for sure. It would’ve been better to read about a mouser. You know, adventures in hunting mice or something like that.

Last night, she fell asleep on the couch and I had to bat her face and jump on her spleen to get her to go to bed. Sheesh. She was taking my spot. What’s wrong with her?

I finally decided the woman was not going to get this post done so I did it for her. Won’t she be shocked when she finally gets over here to find that she’s not even needed? Henry Tudor can have her. See how she likes that axe on her neck, right? Wait, no, we can’t let that happen. What would happen to my snacks? Must. Look. Out. For. Stomach.

Be very, very quiet. Let’s see how long it takes Jillian to check in.

Happy April!