I am a poor, starving, neglecgted kitty. My life, it is very trying. I resort to eating paper towels and plastic (mmm -- I just love plastic anyway!), but Mom does not relent. She's very mean.
I read, write, knit, spin, daydream, whinge, yearn, mull. I'm terribly shy but a lot of people don't believe it. Other people can't believe I'm ever vivacious. I'm in my 40s but still feel pretty much like I'm in my mid-20s. That's both good and bad.
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