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Cheering for Bullet

I don’t always whoop it up for the cat.  But I made an exception this afternoon.  The ‘bullet’, as my kids coined our cat an hour ago, keeps narrowly escaping the playroom.  Only to have his black and white body viced around the mid-section and carted back to non-freedom by my son.

Where he is then stuffed into a Thomas tent with two children and loved near to death.

I’ve lost count of the cat retrievals.  And the number of escapes.   I just know from the couch here, I’m cheering for Bullet.

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