When I woke this morning at six (‘awfully early for a weekend, son’ Mumma croaked, he he) I was in a mood to be playful and up for some mischief. You see, I had been hearing for a week or so that soon I would be turning six months of age and that their darling King is a delight and the light of their lives and that nothing else really matters.
Well today is the day I turn six months! And when I woke so early all I felt was happy. You see, I feel the same about them and I try very hard to tell them how I love them. I love my folks so much though all that comes out of my mouth is squeals and jibber jabber which they pretend to understand.
What I try to say with my squawks is that the warm soft one who smells of milk (she calls herself ‘Mumma’ when I am around) is my faaavourite for all things well, er, milky. And the tattooed one with the strong arms (he calls himself ‘Bubba’) I adore cause he carries me everywhere even when he is bone tired, and never lets me cry.
This has been the best birthday ever. Love, King