I love driving down to Texas in the winter. The further south, the better. It gets warmer, so I don't sneeze as much. And my fur stops looking all clumpy from something Matt calls sta...staticl...uh...something lectircity or something. Makes my fur stand up and things cling to me, like my kitty litter, lint, and small strips of paper.
So I have something to be happy about. This is good, because Matt says I have to do our taxes this year. I've never done them before because I don't have thumbs and can't add and stuff. I can subtract okay, like when I eat and the pieces of cereal disappear. Sometimes I count them. Anyway Matt says I better do them right or the IRS will take me away and turn me into dog food. Does anyone know if they can really do that? Even under Obama it seems a bit extreme. I can't find the calculator either. Maybe someone can help me with this. Matt started doing them and then got mad when I wouldn't stop meowing because I was hungry, and told me to do them myself.
Anyway, Matt and I are in Waco, TX sitting leisurely for the day because freight is slow. He's in the Flying Hook playing with the computer and I'm in the truck enjoying ME-time, laying about on the dashboard and dreaming of fish.