Some days I don’t know why I bother.  I wake up in a perfectly good mood but by the time I descend the main staircase, all has fallen down around me and I should simply turn my silk-wrapped derriere around and head straight back to bed.  I can already see today is nothing to write home about.

I know there was somebody in my bed when I took to it last evening, but they seem to have left in the night.  This doesn’t bother me so much, sometimes I prefer a silent exit, but this particular guest made off with my favorite pair of boots in the process.  I don’t know when I will be in Milan next to replace them.

Adonis had sent word he was to be in town this weekend, something to which I was very much looking forward.  However, Clarice slipped a note with my morning coffee that he will not be able to make it after all.  I don’t know whether this is repayment for my weekend with Romeo or legitimate… more intriguing still is the note was in his hand.

Mouffette, little snit that he is, got under my foot and bit my toe when I stepped on him.  I reminded the pint-sized mongrel that he relied on me for food, shelter and that gigantic bed upstairs he thinks belongs to him alone.  He just sniffed and turned up his tail at me – something that Spoiled Alley Cat taught him, I’m sure.  Well, who am I kidding, that stupid mutt is my life’s blood and I would sooner give up my right arm than him.

Chef cooked my egg for 6 minutes rather than 3, thus losing all its charm.  The coffee was delicious but that’s because there are few crimes more egregious at Place de Plume than scorched coffee and the staff is warned of this.  So I stuffed Adonis’ note into the overcooked yolk, grabbed my cup and the newspaper and retired for the morning in the Sunroom… only there is no sun.

I love rain as much as the next person, but since my weekend plans of being nestled in a strong pair of arms in front of the fire as the rain lashed about outside have been cancelled, I could use a sunbeam to reinvigorate me.  I got tired of the repellant stories in the paper – not an ounce of good news the lot of it – and threw the Current Events section at the Spoiled Alley Cat just to remind her I am on to her.  She merely walked on the fallen papers and promptly fell asleep.

It’s not even lunch and I can find nothing redeeming about today.

My point is, darlings, the sooner you admit defeat, the sooner you can pour a martini.

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