Red Is For Murder*

“I’m not going to let you ruin my relationship with Seb,” I tell the panther.  We’re sitting on the pale blue leather sofa in the parental living room.

“You don’t need me to do that,” the panther says, flicking a velvety ear.  “You’re quite capable of scaring him away yourself, just by being your miserable, fat, lazy self.”

“Stop it,” I tell him.  “I don’t have to listen to this.”

“Just look at you,” the panther says, fixing me with his amber gaze.  “It’s the middle of the day, and you’re wearing sleepwear and you’re a stone overweight and…”

“Look,” I say.  “I’m terminally ill.  It doesn’t matter if I’m not looking my best.  I’m doing what I can.  It’s not easy.  You don’t understand.  You’re a cat.”

“Indeed,” the panther says, putting his huge head down on his front paws, closing his eyes and falling asleep.

Am determined to pull self together.  There are a few things that can do to help self:

1.  Achieve my two days of The Office.

2.  Eat.

3.  Sleep.

4.  Wash self.

5.  Train at the gym.

If can keep up my routine, by the time that Seb returns from the jungle, may feel better.  Am determined to.

Argh had better go.  The fluffy monster is stuck on the roof and needs to be rescued!

The attached photo is a ring-tailed lemur from the safari park yesterday.

Happy Sunday everyone!
*1943.  By Phyllis A. Whitney.  Detective novel.

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