June 8, 2003
Cornzee is bigger than a breadbox. Today she swallowed her food and some of mine. That’s okay, quilt on my dry food, Lady Marmalade, but don’t jimmy the Ocean Whitefish lest you be short innumerable tufts of your orange quill-like fur!
Ocean Whitefish opens me to princely days when, as a tot in my father’s court, I queried fresh fish. Here it’s canned, a lot of, how shall I say, garbage goulash, yet my most refined palate does yearn it, perhaps in the manner that humans palpitate upon McDonalds, or that other place where they serve globules of “popcorn” chicken.
Ocean Whitefish opens me to princely days when, as a tot in my father’s court, I queried fresh fish. Here it’s canned, a lot of, how shall I say, garbage goulash, yet my most refined palate does yearn it, perhaps in the manner that humans palpitate upon McDonalds, or that other place where they serve globules of “popcorn” chicken.
