Mrs. Whitworth was disgusted by the lack of discipline, organization, and preparedness of the priest. She filed her claws on the ribcage of a plump vole. This resulted in the logical outcome of the vole’s death and well-groomed paws. Just as she wanted. But this priest! Mrs. W was itching for a fight—a real one. Not the one-sided blood-lettings of rodents versus felines. A fight she could sink her teeth into and of course ultimately win. That girl moved much too slow for her tastes. “Stupid moony girls! Let’s go! The air is chilled and the moon is full!”
October is one of my favorite months, in fact, may be my favorite: it runs a pretty tight race with August and about a day or two out of February. I swear, Mrs. Whitworth put the idea in my head that Zeptepi really needs to get in the game and start doing pet battles. That silly shaman has been sucking up what little oxygen I have for play time, and the 'trying to stay calm, level, and gear for raiding' panic already set in after only a few days. I had a very dear friend talk me down from the ledge yesterday. To be fair, it was only one story off the ground, and if I had jumped, probably would have only twisted an ankle.
But yes...of all the pets who want to get in the ring and scratch a few eyeballs...Mrs. W is all hopped up on catnip and has been practicing her tail-lashings and kitty-litter toss. Now if I can only find time for Zep to figure all this out.