Dear Pet Lady,
Our two cats are mother and daughter, but—as you can tell from the photo—their personalities couldn't be more different. Ingrid, the mother, is blinking lazily in the background, while little high-strung Isabella nervously sniffs the stair. What gives? Thanks, Pet Lady.
A New Fan
Dear A. Newfan,
Goodness. Are you, Se�or Se�ta Newfan, just like your own presumably dear mother? The felines, although they may bear some family resemblance (as yours seem to in their apparent sleekness) are, like the humans, their own entities regardless of relativity. Like black furry snowflakes, each of your cats is its own exquisite individual, whether blinking lassitudinally or remaining ever vigilant to the stair. Like black furry bowling balls, each of your cats will have its own idiosyncratic tendencies, its own je ne sais quoi. Speaking of which, the Pet Lady recently ventured to Imperial Lanes to have her new Columbia 300 U Dot drilled to the specifications of her own bowling grasp and digits, an elaborate and fascinating process indeed. The wise and calm Ron, master of the Pro Shop, inspired the utmost confidence as he performed intricate calculations and recorded them on an arcane form. The pertinent fingers of the Pet Lady were fit ever so gently into a palette with holes of many different sizes, then measured with what appeared to be an extremely high-technology caliper with a fancy computerized display. After much of this soothing, ceremonial calibrating and recording of the specifics of the Pet Lady's hand, Ron weighed the ball as if it were a newborn and drew careful arcs on it in yellow pencil. The actual drilling was accompanied by the heady scent of heated urethane combined with the smoke from Ron's burning cigarette.
The results, mes amis? The fingerholes of what is now embossed and hereafter known as Little Rich seemed ever so slightly too snug to the Pet Lady as she test-bowled a few balls to Ron in the carpeted lobby of Imperial Lanes. But, as Ron explained, one in fact wants one's ball to be snug; one should not have to grip the ball but merely hold it with the slightest pressure, as if, according to Ron, it were a baby chick. Et voil༯I>, Little Rich's first venture down the lane yielded a lovely strike.
Thank you so much for writing,
The Pet Lady
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