Farted-in Vinegar.

Dear Jaundice

Ivy brought in her first mousy kill a couple of weeks ago. Except it wasn't dead. And refused to be shocked to death (I suppose the London mice are made of tougher stuff than those in your 'toon'). I immediately went to rescue the pathetic little beast but regretted it as soon as I had shaken the little bastard free of Ivy's jaws. It was darting about my room like a ball of soot. It disappeared for hours. When its furry face reappeared again we tried to catch it by building walls with books around it. At one point it ran into my foot. It's little nose actually connected with my foot. I screamed and jumped about 2 feet in the air, and for a split second on the way down to earth considered the awful possibility of landing on it's tiny skull. Pj found it hilarious. Eventually, exhausted by our efforts I pushed our eager kitten under the bed and she emerged a few seconds later with the doomed little creature in her mouth. I picked them both up and pushed them through the cat flap. I could see her peering back through the locked cat flap, mouse in mouth, confused. You feel guilty don't you? Because your cat is basically doing the cat equivalent of calling you 'mama' for the first time and it sends you squirming in disgust.

This achewood made me feel better on an otherwise grim Monday morning...haha. "Farted-in vinegar"...HAAHAHA.

hmm. I feel slightly unhinged. You need to come to London so we can go out and talk about stuff and feel connected again with past lives. I wanted to draw a picture of a showgirl that was naked from the waist down, but completely decked out in feathers and whatnot otherwise. Then I thought why do I want to draw that? And I didn't know the answer. Then I felt an overwhelming feeling of pointlessness and I watched shitty television instead. This is why I don't do anything.

LOVE AND HUGS
Lyndall-o.