“I seem to have–picked up–something on the way in,” Sir Guy said drily, glancing down toward his boots.
Ladywriter, who was nursing a confounded earache along with a bout of TMJ, clasped a heated rice bag to the side of her head as she peered in the direction of the TDHSK.
“Well, I hope you didn’t pick up any ‘deposits’ left by Buddy or Rascal while you were playing with them to track through the house,” she replied, giving him one of those “stern teacher” looks through her spectacles. “I have reminded you about scraping those big, beautiful feet before, you know.”
(She was a little touchy today.)
Sir Guy shook his head. “No–t’would be one small feline attached to my left leg.” Raising said leg, Sir Guy smirked as he shook it. Scarlett Kitten was firmly attached to his leather-shod calf, her bright little eyes gleaming as she dug her sharp little claws in tighter. She loved using Sir Guy as a portable climbing post. Heck, she just loved Sir Guy, period. But then, didn’t all females with the Good Taste Gene feel the same way?
Happy Guyday Friday, y’all! Now, back to that heated rice bag . . . *sigh*