My cat Zubby had his usual busy schedule today--I checked his Day Planner and he had pencilled in:

Sleep--21 1/2 hours,

Eat, and

Lie on the couch with Paul and watch TV.

Now to some of you this picture may just look like a lazy, chubby cat lounging around, but it's not, eh. He's actually guarding the route to my office. No. Really. He is. He may look like he's asleep, but he's actually a tightly coiled spring of feline territorial aggression, just waiting to attack any intruders.

With all this um coiled spring lying around business, Zubby feels like he's put on a few pounds; there's a lot of cat to lift there. When I mentioned to Paul a while back that Zubby felt a little chubby, he got quite snippy. "Zubby's not fat, he's fluffy" I was informed. Fine.

I've noticed that there's been quite a bit of talk about body image here in Diaryland lately. I would like to suggest that we all adopt Paul's point of view on this. All together now:

"We're not fat, we're fluffy."

There, I think we've handled that body image matter quite tidily, don't you?

Let's see, what else? Well, we've had another lull in The Great Gray Squirrel War of 2001; nary a squirrel ventured to the feeders today. Zubby was out this morning for about 20 minutes patrolling the battleground (he takes his generalship VERY seriously) but otherwise our side didn't muster any show of force. Nevertheless, the feeders were left alone.

We're not sure if we're being toyed with again--if some sort of major assault is being planned for the weekend--or if the squirrels have decided that the open feeders are just too dangerous to approach.

Or

They may just be messing with our heads. With squirrels, it's kind of hard to tell.

There will be further bulletins as events progress.