Robby The Streak.

At the very real risk of nauseating you with more Robby-isms, boring you to tears or making you wish you'd never been born, or all three, maybe just a few more thoughts. Good thing I don't have a camera, eh?

Today my friend said I should have a contest. Blog readers, take the letters of Robby's name and see how many words you can come up with that describe Robby. R. O. B. B. Y. My friend got it started with Roll, Run, Rip, Rampage, Rummage and, of course, Rasputin-ish. O?, anyone?

The prize is a picture of Robby. Of course, like I just said, I don't have a camera. My camera seems to have gone the way of the frying pan, except the camera went first. Even if I had a camera, I should like to know how to post pictures on a blog.

Robby is a study when it comes to folding laundry. He intently watches every move, especially the repetition of underwear. After a while, he decides to "help." To distract him from "helping," I built a fort with pillows (I have six pillows on the bed). That was a BIG hit. With the pillows propped just so and one as a top, Robby now has a Pillow Fort, which is really a Pillow Tunnel. I have a feeling I will be reconstructing it every morning.

Robby had a little surprise when he jumped in the kitchen trash can today. Mike had just taken out the garbage and placed a new liner in the can. So when Robby made his flying leap, TRA-LA, he descended clean to the bottom of the tall can. Because, of course, there was no good garbage filling the can 1/2 to 3/4 full for him to land on. Robby understands NO! He just has selective memory sometimes.

My same friend above, titled her email The Puddy Cat. That is correct. I didn't say it right last blog when I said Putty Cat. Putty Cat would seem to indicate some sort of adhesive. For a bathroom project or what have you. Or maybe that Robby is really a Gumby. Puddy Cat is exactly what it should be. I was glad for the enlightenment.

Mike just got on my nerves, because when I blog I don't need any fooling around near by. And Mike was fixing a snack and rinsing dishes, 4 feet away from where I type. I asked, What are you doing? He said, Excuse me for living. I said, Okay.

Then, Mike caught me, just now, playing with Robby on the computer desk. Robby loves and adores to watch my fingers fly over the keys. Mike says, I know who your favorite is. I said, What do you mean? I thought he meant maybe Jazzi. But he meant himself. Because Robby is allowed to mess up my train-of-blogging-thought, but he, Mike, is not.

Well, I knocked myself out making Mike's Annual Birthday Banana Cream Pie. It involved two trips to the store and a crummy homemade crust. Rats. I ate a piece, but since it's so late, Mike can't have that laying on his stomach at bedtime. He has to wait 'til tomorrow. What is more disappointing than your crust not turning out as usual? Now I am motivated to make another pie soon, so I can get it right.

The Rays are in a vortex. Rats on the Rays.

My friend gave me a massive fire engine red furry kitty hotel, two stories. Used. The other cat hair is on it. I am not allergic to Robby, but I think I'm allergic to this old other cat hair. That's too bad, eh?

Don't forget to enter the R. O. B. B. Y contest, ha, ha.

Robby sends his best,
KEM