Patchwork Kitty

And here we are.
Yes, I have photo evidence.
May I proudly present........
My cat's undercarriage -



Her name is Frances. She is a princess. She has a problem. There is no shame in this. It is simply nerves and stress from being so beautiful, refined and glamorous amongst a household of dirty, profane commoners.

Frances is actually married to a strapping chap by the name of Sir Rupert Cossington Bathingswaite VC BSC and Bar. Rupert is often away on missions, to keep our country safe from invading forces and so Frances remains at my house. She often gazes out the window as she tends to her needlepoint, dreaming of those long romantic outings they took together in the two seater. Rupert, is a military man it is true. It is a hard life for a military wife. I often note a tear in her eye, as she gazes heavenward. It is not unusual for the odd biplane to dip its wings, as it soars overhead, in deference to her Lady Frances.

Lady Frances has a dear friend, Lady Amanda Soames. Lady Amanda got herself in a spot of trouble recently, with a wickedly handsome chap from Kenya. Lady Frances has stood firmly by her side throughout the scandal. We raised her this way, and are dreadfully proud.

Lady Frances' troubles with....ahem....'self Brazilian obsession and compulsion' started off innocently, as these things usually do. An impressionable beauty, with too much time on her hands. Handsome squire away on secret missions, flying the skies to protect hearth and home. And then mother introduces another into the fold. A human child. Oh yes. A bald squalling brat of little notable worth, who frankly took up too much of the human slave's time. The hairless squirt simply roared, farted and vomited incessantly. And yet, not once did the human let loose with a fistful of claws across its ever open noise-hole. Surely, this would have been the correct reaction to this unwelcome interloper. But never let it be said that the Lady Frances did not TRY. Oh try she did. She sat delicately by its side and drooled lovingly on its head. She joined in the incessant caterwauling - as one knows....misery does indeed love company. She took every opportunity to lie in its cot, pram and rocker...simply to warm it up.

And the gratitude for these esteemable actions.....NOTHING. WORSE THAN NOTHING....she was pushed aside. For THAT hairless, screeching amorphous blob.

And so it began. She only mean't to try it once. Just to see what this hairless business was all about. To satisfy her curiousity about the appeal of pink furless flesh.

And ladies and gentleman the obsession grew. The compulsion to rid herself and bare great swathes of skin is now uncontrollable. Lady Frances must wear full length sleeves and trousers at all times to cover the pink naked flesh. No more skimpy summer dresses for our Lady Frances.

There was a time that we wept. Oh yes, many a tear has fallen. But now? Goddammit, we just accept her in all her patchy glory. If she is addicted to perfecting the full body Brazilian, well so be it. We love her anyway!!

And for the record....Rupert hasn't complained once!!