December 2014 – Hot Dog Cool Cats

Charlie and her Drinking Habits

In case I did not mention it, I also share Momma's Bed with the Incredible Stuffed Monkey Ruby who is a good listener and a great pillow. — In case I did not mention it, I also share Momma’s Bed with the Incredible Stuffed Monkey Ruby who is a good listener and a great pillow.

So, as I said, I love my Momma. Now I have heard her say I am the most Loving and Giving pet (was I born on a Friday?) that she has ever encountered. After I was no longer under the influence of Mandu, who was floating around on her Pink Cloud, I needed to plan for my future. During the day, as I laid on RIP Daddy’s bed, I made long-term plans for sharing Momma’s bed at night, hence forth.

I told you, I told you. Pretty Little Diva Calico Gen gets served kibbles on Momma's bed, a zillion times a day or as many times as she asks for it. So, is she spoiled beyond redemption or are her powers of manipulation to be recognized and rewarded accordingly? — I told you, I told you. Pretty Little Diva Calico Gen gets served kibble on Momma’s bed, a zillion times a day or as many times as she asks for it. So, is she spoiled beyond redemption or are her powers of manipulation to be recognized and copied accordingly?

I also patrolled Momma’s bedroom and noticed little Calico Diva Gen spent a lot of time on the bed and even got to eat kibble from a bowl, fed at the bottom of the bed. Huh!

I have got to get Jakita to look that up in her Policy and Procedures for All Creation but I am almost certain that it is verboten and that Gen is just an overindulged, spoiled little Diva because she meows so sweetly, her fur is so soft and she knows how to manipulate individuals or even more importantly, how to work a crowd. So what can I do to stand out in a house where I have to compete to get attention?

Like a good miner I must survey, then stake a claim and find the gold. By 9:30 pm each night I jump on Momma’s bed, waiting, because as Gen said, ‘What else does a cat do?’ Around about 10:00pm Momma & Jakita come in the bedroom, Momma lifts Jakita on the bed because, well, she is like a white (wo)man. She can not jump. If that was me, I’d be humiliated, but Jakita is so pampered, she does not even notice that she seemed to be born without springs in her back legs. But no trash talking Jakita. She has a good heart, even if she is a bit paranoid, tattling to Momma if I do wrong. At the same time she protects me from other cats, takes my side if I go out on a limb, reassure Momma when I over extend myself. She’s got my back.

Charlie and Jakita on Momma's bed ready to sleep - See a photo of RIP Daddy and some dolls from Momma's childhood, (now that is old) in the back ground. — Charlie and Jakita on Momma’s bed ready to sleep – See a photo of RIP Daddy and some dolls from Momma’s childhood, (now that is old) in the back ground. Jakita is to die for cute, isn’t she?

Once the lights are out, I make my move, pouring my body against Momma’s rib cage, my thick, matted fur wedged between the bed and her bones, purring contentedly. Meanwhile Jakita, sleeps at Momma’s feet, drifting off to never-never-land. I do not really get it but it is like Jakita passes out, she does not even move a muscle, all night long, unless, I accidentally wake her up like I did a couple of nights ago.

Something I noticed is Momma always brings a glass of water to bed, placing it on the bedside table, every night. Now Momma fills our water bowls many times a day. She even mistakenly leaves toilet lids up and whoa, Andy thinks it is his private drinking bowl. Not my cup of tea. However, I do not mind drinking from the same glass as Momma. Say what, Momma… won’t like that? I have only one thing to say about that. I am most fastidious, so get over it, Momma. One night I was thirsty. It was right in front of me, not two feet away. The lights were off, but cats are nocturnal, right?

I quietly tried to step over Momma to get close to the water-glass (thank our Baby Jesus it was a plastic). Like a missile, the glass went flying, baptizing me, Momma, the nightstand and the floor. Angels and semi precious gems took flight, pills scattered, and Momma’s crystal ball rolled, like thunder from heaven, on the hardwood floor.

In a flash Momma was awake, turning on the light, saying, ‘What the heck?’ I was in shock. What had I done? Would I be evicted from the inner sanctum? I jumped back over Momma, positioned myself by my protector, Jakita who seemed to rise from the great beyond and further. She sat up, shook her head to clear away the cob webs, looked at Momma beseechingly as if to say, ‘No worries. It was an accident,’ and promptly flopped down and went back to her former comatose state.

Momma looked at me, then at Jakita, hopped out of bed to get towels to mop up the wet floor, and rectified random objects that had been caught in the devastation. She got back in bed, turned off the light and said, ‘Go to sleep Charlie, Fais Do-Do, Jakita. Sweet Dreams and Charlie, the water is, as Jakita would say – mine, mine, mine.’

Is it any wonder I love, love, love Momma?

Senorita Jakita Out of Bounds

Like, I got some things to say. You know that I ♥♥♥ my Momma and she ♥’s ♥’s ♥’s me but I do not understand why she goes so postal, on occasion, like a few days back. I suspect it had something to do with the fact that I did not come when she called me in.

Look at that sky. Are those colored globes planets from millions of galaxies away? Look at the blue, yellow, greens. How could any dog or man resist the spontaneous joy of a starry night? — Look at that sky. Are those colored globes planets from millions of galaxies away? Look at the shades of blue, yellow, green. Oooohhhh. Is that red one Mars, maybe? How could any dog or man resist the spontaneous pull of a starry night?

But, whatever (big yawn) I was outside, there was a full moon, with ***’s (or is it planets,) shining brightly in the dark, clear sky, just beckoning me to enjoy the moment. That it was a nice balmy zero degrees only encouraged me to plow through the snow with gusto. I was no longer a sable and white dog, I was completely white, with huge snow balls, like a tiny abominable snowman. At the same time I managed to attract monster thistles caught in the wiry fur on my legs, my beard, my long silky ears, my tail and ouch, my belly, from slinking under the dead bushes and left over foliage in the flower beds. I felt like a commando, disguised as a snow (wo)man, on a sssshhh, top classified secret mission.

Okay, I get it (a little) that the longer I stayed out, collecting snow balls and thistles, the bigger the job Momma had when I finally came in. Yet at some point, I always bark to say, ‘Hurry, I am cold, let me in, hurry, you’re not here yet, where are you? I am dying out here. HURRY, HURRY, HURRY!.’

Is it my fault Momma can not always see me because the snow is so high and she worries unnecessarily, may I add that:

I may escape the back yard and will be like Sweet Sophie who has never been seen again (to our knowledge) or
I may be doggy napped and not able to find my way home (did you not hear about Lassie, Momma?) or I
I will become stuck in a snow drift and my life force will be sucked out of my body before she even finds me and how would she tell Wonder Boy. It is just to sad. See Momma wipe away a tear from her eye.

Don't do this - you'll get pain in your old age. — Don’t do this – you’ll get pain in your old age.

I tell you, Momma is just like her father before her, so I understand, worrying needlessly…. But not without cause. I heard Momma tell Wonder Boy, tears in her voice that a little boy, a few miles from here had been caught in a snow bank during the blizzard Wednesday and died before he could be rescued. That is why Momma clears the steps of snow, then shovels a pathway for me from the door to the very back of the yard, under the big old evergreen tree I love to hide under, surveying the world at large, while, as I said previously, the world can not survey me. Winter is so much fun. In my next life, I want to come back as one of those husky sled dogs, in the land of the midnight sun or maybe not…I enjoy being pampered too much and…oh, that’s right, I like people more than frothing, barking, whining dogs. I am not a team player.

See the paths in the deep snow, half way up the cherry tree, that I run up and down, back and forth till my lungs could burst.

This particular night Momma, finally had to put her boots on, and come outside to find me, then chase me in the back door. Apparently that is unacceptable behavior that falls short of previous training. Who Knew? She raised her voice so loudly, I thought I’d go deaf or my ear drums would pop. Usually, with Momma, it is over in a minute but not tonight. All the frustration she felt in past four years spilled and spewed, making a stew of words I could not understand or fathom. I was served a full plate of her complaints, in a loud, penetrating rant. I felt so ashamed for letting her down, I could not look her in the eye as she melted my snow balls, in warm water, towel dried me, then used her blow dryer on low heat to complete the drying process, brushing or cutting out the thistles I had managed to collect. It made me feel so warm and contented and guilty.

Look at me, so crashed out and guilty looking my sad eyes reflecting that I had to do better, next tie, I promise. — Look at me, so crashed out and guilty looking, my sad eyes reflecting that I knew I had to do better, next time, I promise.

But there is more to tell and well, I like you to know that I realize my short comings. Even though Super Boy has great admiration for me, when he doggie-sat me, he soon realized I was powerful contrary, and dead set on doing what ever I want to do. I am trying….. but I am a work-in-process.

In the meantime, everyone agrees that I am uncommonly smart, (though not boastful) and mostly sensible so that I know to rein it in when I get out of line.

And if you see me behaving badly, please feel free to put me in my place. I need lots of structure.

Casey Come Home

I am a little concerned. I heard Momma saying to Wonder Boy that I did not have a clue about the ‘concept of play’. And that would be important…why???

Well, excuse me, but back at the Cat Colony there were no little plastic balls with a jingle bell inside, hanging on a pretty ribbon on the boughs of the trees and bushes. No, more like dangling deer ticks and thistles, that were all out to get you and you, and oh, you too. I had to be a contortionist to remove them from my coat. When I managed to expel them, I would also pull out a patch of fur, which in turn formed scabs that became infected.

When Momma took me to the vet, because of my running sores, the gouge over my infected eyes and sprained leg, she learned……. too much information. I was high risk, with Feline Leukemia. If she wanted me indoors, I could not eat from the same dishes or use the same litter boxes as the other cats. I needed segregation, although I longed to be accepted, but not only by Jakita (who liked me from Day 1, sensing my brokeness both physically and mentally).

Don't let her fool you! Jakita has her eyes on me, radiating healing powers as she protects me from the world and all of its' complexities. — Is it just me or is some patches of our fur a similar color?

I can never forget the dreary, wet day, Momma took me inside, me, a wild cat, that had just recently met the Two Footed. I had no experience with dogs and had never entered an enclosed space without an escape route. Now surrounded by walls and ceilings and doors. I saw her put a comfortable cushion in the cat carrier, in the garage leaving the top off since cats always like a get-away. Then like a farmer’s wife, collecting eggs from the hen’s nest, Momma kept checking for me to take the bait. I did.

Early days. As you can see, my fur is gouged and matted, thick and patchy in places. My mouth is infected, my left eye barely open. Still I was so at ease on RIP Daddy's bed that, I could lay on my back and expose my belly which showed my complete trust. I felt I was already in heaven. — I was so at ease on RIP Daddy’s bed that, I could lay on my back and expose my belly which showed my complete trust. I felt I was already in heaven.

After all, when we had gone to the vet together, Momma had cried because of my condition. I knew I had taken over her heart. I trusted this woman. So I dragged my weak body and useless leg on to the inviting cushion, out of the rain. She came out, threw a towel over my eyes to keep me from freaking out, picked up the cat carrier and took me inside, leaving me alone in a small room alone to chill out. I inherently knew, Momma had my back, my belly, my very kitty being. I hid under the claw footed bathtub and peaked out, perplexed about the gurgling toilet.

From time to time Momma would come in, get down on the floor, look at me, all the while talking softly, then leave me alone. As I grew braver, I slid between the end of the tub and the wall, inching closer so Momma could reach out to brush and stroke me. As time progressed and I was more at ease, Momma put ointment on my eyes and scabs, fed me antibiotics, food enrichment and tiny little vitamin packed treats. The truth be told, what I liked the most about my new life, was having a full dish of cold water. A fever can leave you devilishly thirsty.

There was no stopping Momma. Still, it was a dilemma for the Two Footed who are supposed to rationalize, rather than emotionalize, facts and figures.

But that playing stuff, I mean I tried, domesticated cat rules, I used Momma’s scratching pads for my claws, her litter box, ate and drank carefully to not have crumbs and dribbles on the carpet, always self groomed after every meal but…I didn’t do balls on strings, yet. Like, is that a problem?

I wanted to be PURRFECT for Momma and Wonder Boy. Then I learned (rather indignantly) although I probably should have felt proud, that I was going to be subjected to the on-line (of course) Cat Intelligence Test. I was only beaten by, you guessed it, Andy The Brainiac who of course bested me by his reaction over a piece string Momma teased us with. Logically, I had ignored the string, rather than becoming ‘engaged’. Heck, over at The Colony, it is like being in The Big House, you don’t ‘engage’ the unknown, you ignore it, and maybe, live to see another day. And being as suspicious as I am, I wondered if maybe The Brainiac had been tested before and knew what the expectations were in order to qualify as an Einstein Cat.

I really, really, really want Andy to love me, not ignore me. After all, Gen and Beau love me, Jakita adores me so wake up, Andy, what is not to love? — See how great I look after a few weeks of nurturing, good food and prescribed medication. I really, really, really want Andy to love me, not ignore me. What’s not to love?

As you can understand, I am a textbook product of my scary, past environment. I probably need lots of years of cat psychology. But I do have a lot of love to give because well, all you need is love. If I have to ‘play’ to be a well-rounded cat for Momma, so be it. I am on it, as soon as I feel good enough to jump, run, and act like a frisky kitten. After all, if the ten-year old Diva Calico Gen, can bat balls on ribbons on door knobs, find treasures to push from table tops to the floor, or in the corners, I’ll ‘just do it’ and make Momma’s day, even if it means that all the while I will be chased by a barking super-hyper Jakita, who can’t decide if she should join the fun or tattle on us and get us in trouble.

I am working on getting this ‘play concept’, honestly! Any suggestions?

Email: housekeeping@hotdogcoolcats.com

Senorita Jakita and her Oasis

Did I tell you yet about our back yard? There are all kinds of things that catch my attention back there and so many places to hide from Momma’s all seeing blue eyes. A big dog may consider the yard a postage stamp but when you weigh twenty pounds, stand about fourteen inches from fluffy paw to upturned top of head, it is a heady jungle to plough through.

Look at the green ferns, the summer snow, the exquisite rose, petals from heaven, that the butterflies choose to land on. — Look at the **green ferns**, the summer snow, the **exquisite rose**, with petals from heaven, that the butterflies choose to land on.

Green, green grass, massive flowerbeds chock full of hostas, peonies, rose bushes and flowers that germinate from seeds that float from the neighbor’s garden, all providing a leafy canopy to hide away from the world.

Yet still I can observe all the activity taking place, a little mouse running, a worm pushing through the damp earth to the surface, some busy ants and butterflies of every color landing daintily on the tip of a cone flower. It is a breathless, ever-changing oasis. A fence line on the East, West and North side of the lawn denies my escape while the house is the barrier on the South side, keeping me in and undesirables from the neighbour hood out.

Then there are all the trees Daddy planted, a silver birch, a red and green maple that provide shade with their canopy of leaves filtering and obliterating the hot sun. Also, a back yard cherry tree is an invitation to squirrels who zip up the trunk, shake the heavy laden branches with practiced little front paws, raining cherries in the back yard. But maybe my favourite is the big fir-tree, with a massive circumference providing shelter in the cold of winter and coolness on scorching day in the summer.

Managing the Indoor – Outdoor cats (Momma calls them the Indoor-Outdoor-Indoor Cats now because they are inside way more than they are out), the Colony Cats, Squirrels, Raccoons, Rabbits, and lonely old possum – oh boy, that keeps me busy.

Okay, too funny - ech kitty with a QT held in paws - apparently their ears needed cleaning. Andy in Front, Beau in Middle, (looking so innocent but I saw him catch a rabbit), Gen at back — **Kitty Club Med.**

Take our cats, (p–l–e–a–s–e), all who are older than me and sometimes wiser than me. They mostly treat me with something between respect and indulgence because, well I am street smart and the Baby of the Family. But what they appreciate the most is that I have a loud, annoying bark and will run off enemies as well as defend them to my last breath. In return, I have carte blanche when they start hissing and growling at each other to pounce on them and bring them back to their senses. They will stalk away, ears back, tales swaying moodily, but in no time they are making friendly with each other and me, no grudges allowed or tolerated.

Let’s talk about the rabbits who I believe, over the years have learned their lesson and no longer invade our flowerbeds because, well, the cats will perpetuate the cycle of life and death, on these poor, witless creatures. Better to listen to Mama Rabbit and stay the heck out of Dodge. I love the cats but not for a second do I understand their predatory nature, given that they get the same soft and hard food, treats and toys from Momma, as I do. I mean, I make a lot of noise but I would never take a life, as pointless as it may be.

And tell me, what is wrong with a Mama Bird that she thinks her baby should be pushed out its nest, the only home it knew, into our back yard where the cats are prowling and salivating? I bark to warn Mama Bird. I try to protect those poor little peepers by inserting my body between them and the cats, as they valiantly practice using their little wings.

Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, it is all in the game, says Momma, who is as perplexed as I am at both Mama Bird, and our cats’ behaviour.

So Mama Bird, this is how you protect your baby. Note how I am on high alert, head on swivel tilt, so Tigger can sleep in heavenly peace. — See **Mama Bird,** this is how you protect your baby. *Note how I am on high alert, head on swivel tilt*, so Tigger can sleep in **heavenly peace.**

Now the raccoons, they have it together. They know the rules, they obey the rules. They do not come in our back yard. There is a time and place for everything and they learned it is best to come out and pick cherries from the tree at the side door under the mindful supervision of Momma or Wonder Boy.

Sometimes on a clear summer night you will see the cats, raccoons and squirrels all together, cherry picking, like in Revelations, where the lamb lays down with the lion. Of course the cats don’t have any use for cherries, except to bat them around or to steal them from under their opponent’s nose.

As for me, I am a voyeur. I just sit on the steps with Wonder Boy, monitoring the cherry picking, watching the June bugs buzz around the outside light, and the awesome fire flies, just marveling about sweet is my very own kingdom come!

Sir Clem to You & You & You

So I was the latest challenge for Momma to tame and seduce with food, water and a safe haven to hide out from all the threats that roamed the neighbor hood.

Now, no flies on Momma, she noticed paw marks all over her car and wondered, since she knew her Indoor / Outdoor Cats were hibernating, and wouldn’t venture out till the temperature rose like the sun in the morning. Still, I had shelter but no food. No birds or the mice were hanging about. Like the squirrels, they were Gone, Baby, Gone. And like the Farmer In the Dell, I was the Cheese, left alone. Hi-O-The-Derrio-The-Cheese-Was-Left-Alone.

Clem hears the call of the wild. — **Clem** hears the call of the wild.

It seemed like every morning this past winter, Momma would be outside, shoveling snow, singing to me, ‘Oh my darling, Clementine.’ ‘That would be Clem, Momma, Clem will do just fine. Or call me Clem-Ka-Diddle-Hopper because I boot it out of the garage, like a bolt of lightning, before the roaring thunder. Are you feeling me, Momma?’

One morning Momma came back from wherever she goes. I plunked myself on the roof of her car, just to get her attention, like, I am starving out here, my eyes said…..and then hightailed it out, hiding behind the side of the garage. I could not have played a better hand. Momma read my mind or body language or whatever, went in and returned with a dish of cat food, yummy food, fit for the Kitty Club Med Members.

At that point I still did not trust Momma (she had that Two Footed thing going on) so I sidled over to the bowl, grabbed some vittles, then ran to safety, hiding under her car to eat it. I followed this pattern, all the while, eyeballing Momma’s reaction, which pretty much, she ignored me. Once I had established she was no threat and did not even try to come near me, I relaxed and got on with standing at the bowl and inhaling the food.

I tell you Momma was easy to train. Soon I had my own food dish in the garage and sometimes Cat Seven and Cat 24601 (dragging his chains behind him, like in Les Miz) came up from the Colony and I let them eat when I had left overs but really, mostly it was for me. Momma and I were engaged in the dance of the seven veils. I didn’t run and hide when I saw her or the Black and White Andy, when he emerged. He is an In and Out, now you see him, now you don’t, who still eyes me warily and will chastise me for the smallest infraction (like when I got too close, he swatted him).

Here I am, getting the rays on the porch veranda, still an Outside Only Cat. At this point, I was friendly. Momma was allowed to pat me, brush me but I would not enter the home of the Two Footed, Of course Momma, crafty as me, seduced me with food and water. She kept moving the food dish closer to the door, then in the door and the borders gradually evaporated. As long as I could make my escape back outside in the twinkling of an eye, I was and am a Happy Camper - does that make me an Indoor/Outdoor Cat now? — Clem – the Happy Camper.

Momma (being Momma) read on-line the reason I am so strong-willed and inflexible. Apparently it is because I am blessed or maybe cursed with, being a Tortoise Shell Cat. I suffer apparently, with Tortitude which makes me independent, a bit hot-tempered, moody, vocal when required, (not really – I hate vocal cats) oh, and the boss of their surroundings, that is a given…and smart, did I tell you that?

Email: housekeeping@hotdogcoolcats.com

Senorita Jakita Walks On

Gravestones I am not tired yet, from my Neighbor hood exploration and Graveyard stroll so what other possibilities of entertainment is out here for me? In the front garden, all of our Indoor-Outdoor and Colony Kitties lay down, paws tucked under, Egyptian style, sheltered by the Japanese Maple, or stretched out on the Stepping Stones. They look so cool and introspective as they sit upright on the front step, staring through slit eyes at some invisible spirits that only they have eyes to see. On my best behavior, I do not chase the cats out, instead I sniff, sniff, sniff, what is that smell?

See front garden, bushes @ back, lovely yellow tulip, geraniums and wildflowers - a perfect camouflage for a Dancing Fairy to conceal her true identity. — Front garden,with bushes @ back, lovely yellow tulip, geraniums and wildflowers – a perfect camouflage for a Dancing Fairy to conceal her true identity.

Did another dog have the nerve to walk through our front garden? Did a dog pee on Momma’s flowers? The audacity – some people’s kids. Dog owners these days – they are just not up to the job. Momma never would let me walk in a neighbors’ front garden or yard, for that matter. Let me share a secret about how this patch of bad grass and bramble bushes turned in to a front yard garden. It began long ago and far away when Daddy still walked the earth plane.

Yet even before Momma and Daddy, there was Momma’s father who cajoled his children into looking at the unknown, to examine and question whether it was the wonder of nature, political or religious attitudes or just leaving behind the old to embrace the new. He would taking his children and their friends on a walk, (the Pied Piper) on a lazy, summer afternoon, through the mill yard, over the fence, up the railroad tracks till they arrived at a piece of land that had a big round hole in the ground, which he said was a fairy ring.

Now science might claim the hole was caused by a meteorite hurtling from outer space, creating the cavity in the earth. But no, Momma’s father had seen with his own eyes (well, at least once), on a moonlit night tiny iridescent fairies with their gossamer wings, their tutus the very colors of the rainbow, whirling on bejeweled pink satin slippers as they performed the Circle of the Fairy Dance, for only those who “believe”.

Back in Real Time, we live in a friendly urban neighbor hood wherein, in order to keep the tradition going, Momma had Daddy pull up the front lawn and carefully lay down rich top soil, then plant bushes, ornamental grasses and flowers. Next came stepping-stones and rocks that bleed a river of silver when the sun is high in the sky.

Twirling in wild abandon in the shadow of sculptures and flowers.

Of course, little statues and sun dials were put in place for tiny fairies to conceal themselves, peeping out from behind our miniature roses and Impatiens . Like The Field of Dreams, Momma and Daddy believed ‘if they built it, the Fairy Dance would come’. When the moon is high, Momma says, she does, that the fairies gather to effortlessly perform the Circle of the Fairy Dance.

Now it came to pass there was a lady across the street who, when she saw Momma and Daddy working in our garden, would wave and say they should come over and plant a garden for her (True Story). Of course Daddy said he would, when he got some free time. Unbeknownst to us, she had a lethal form of cancer, which she decided to treat with firewater, shunning conventional medicine. You know the weekend when the hydro failed here in The Big Smoke. Ontario blamed New York and New York blamed Ontario and Quebec, with all their abundance of natural power, laughed at all of us. That weekend, the lady across the street, slipped away, on to her greater reward, free of pain, man’s best friend, her faithful dog, at her side.

UNCONDITIONAL, HANG IN THERE LOVE. I AM WITH YOU , TIL DEATH DO US PART. — Unconditional, I am with you till-death-do-us-part-love.

Momma and I like to think the lady’s very spirit crossed the street, to the garden she loved, wherein on the Moonlit Nights, we have a new Lead Ballerina, twirling in bejeweled slippers, fully embracing the magic of the Circle of the Fairy Dance. Come see come see, her energy now restored, her body once again lithe and strong, effortlessly spinning in pink pointe ballet slippers in the midnight moon light!

The Fairy Band with instuments, the Angel, the picture of the Circle of the Fairy Dance behind the Resting Fairy. Only, in Canada. Pity. — See the three Angels playing musical instruments, the Winged Angel, and the picture of the Circle of the Fairy Dance behind the Resting Fairy. Only, in Canada. Pity.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: