I am Molly

Bonjour, mes amis.  I am Molly.  You are meeting me because I have sent my companion away to France, with her Mother.  She needed a rest, poor thing.  What with the hiking, and camping, and a few desperate weeks of work, she was simply worn out.  Fatigued.  Which I would say in French but this foul Blogger has not the accent symbole.

En tout cas, I am here, at the home of le Fatty Kitty.  Fatty Kitty is, of course, dead.  Nevertheless, this is still his home, his domaine, no more so than when I repose in the garden which bears his name.

 

You see me on a small rock, which sometimes holds water, surrounded by the burgeoning catnip. and many squash which will never bear fruit.  I fear this librarian is no gardener.  However, the catnip is exceptional and that is all that really matters.

I spend my time in the usual manner: in repose upon my fur-lined bed

 

(I have a lovely view of the woodcutter who lives next door - so restful to watch others sweating and hauling and perhaps, swearing);

I also go for les aventures in the back yard.  There are trees, birds, squirrels, and a rival cat to amuse me.

I surprise my concierge by walking along the ground one moment, and the next instant I am...

 

vous voyez?

Eh bien, je dois partir maintenant.

J'aime le traducteur Google.

Until next time, mes amis.  Au revoir....