My mother is a VERY good person. Obviously. I could hardly blame her if she refused me this favour. After all, the last time I asked her to take care of my cat, was when I moved out of her house and left behind an aged, misanthropic feline. Seven loooooong years later he was still living with her, when he succumbed to a terminal case of living-too-long-itis.
While my mother was at home with my aged, good-natured dog and my spastic, furniture scratching (BUT CUTE) kitten, I was here:
It was a very good trip. I've almost recovered from the motion sickness, that I always get if I'm on the water for more than 20 minutes. In addition, I've almost recovered from the thrill of FINALLY catching a fish:
This is a northern pikeminnow (though it used to have an unsavoury name that I refuse to use in real life or on my blog) and it's chock-a-block full of bones and pretty much inedible. But still I'm pretty pleased with myself. What can I say? I have low standards.