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Old 05-02-2013, 14:22
Forum Member
Join Date: Oct 2012
Posts: 521
Hello. My name is Jess and I'm 117 years old (that's in dog years). Let me tell you a little about my life, although I can't type a great deal as it's difficult using my arthritic claws. I get very bored and lonely, as myself and my dog and cat companions are left alone for long periods when Mummy goes off to work really hard all over the world. The younger, naughtier dogs spend a good deal of time chewing and destroying Mummy's furniture, even though I tell them not to, as I know she has spent thousands of pounds on it. She paid a rare visit home the other week, but we all cowered as we could tell she was very angry - one of the dogs started to wee all over the place she was that scared. Mummy was drinking some fizzy stuff from a green bottle and slumped further into the sofa as the night wore on. Then her Blackberry beeped and she got even more cross. 'Whaddya mean you're not impreshed? I filed it on time dinnah? What more dya want?' Her voice sounded strange and whoever rang her was really upsetting her, as she suddenly jumped up and started swearing - lots. 'I am the Columnisht of the - hic - yeaaar! F**k you, arshehole!' Mummy threw her Blackberry across the room and trod on one of the cat's tails as she weaved her way up to our bedroom. We all followed, hoping that she might have set out individual pots of Harrod's prawns on the cashmere bedspread for us, but, apart from a layer of dog and cat hair, there was nothing else there. Huddling on and around Mummy's bony frame in the bed, we looked at each other with wide, frightened eyes. 'What will happen to us, Michael, if Mummy loses her job?' I whispered. 'Shush, Jess. That will never happen as long as those other people write her stuff when she's incapable, like now.' I stared at the posters on Mummy's bedroom walls - long-haired men wearing leather cat-suits and others in leggings and baggy coats. They must be her friends but none have ever come to visit us. I would love to be able to jump up and greet them, leaving potato-print paw marks on their Prada t-shirts. Oh, well. Woof!

P.S. Fabulous posts BellaFiga!
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