Mr. Whiskers

At church yesterday, Corb, the college pastor whom is positively wonderful, introduced his friend Mr. Whiskers to the congregation. Now don't be deceived by the name, Mr. Whiskers is a cat. He detests water, it's electrifying to him. He finds voices interesting for a time but if you talk too long he closes his eyes slowly and ever so slightly leans his head consistently to the left. He does purr if you touch him in the right spot. He also is quite obedient in sitting in the same position -I didn't think cats could be obedient either. I like to think that Mr. Whiskers would thoroughly enjoy to hear about my adventures in France.

Dear Mr. Whiskers,

I'm preparing for my journey today. I leave so shortly that it is wise to start packing. It's hard to believe that I'll be getting on a flight for Paris in two days time. I will arrive Thursday morning, Paris time.

Oh the turmoil of what to pack. Of course, I'll bring clothes and shoes and my tooth brush. It's the questionable things that I'm fretting about. What about my hiking boots? Snow pants? Or a tambourine? Then the pressure from my books. Each of them are glaring at me, trying desperately to hold my attention, to entice me to bring them to France. Yes, I will bring a journal. It's still in its packaging. I will unwrap it in the airport. Mr. Whiskers, I know how much you like to look at picture so I attached a picture of me packing. I'll be sure to write soon. The next time will be on the flip side, in France.

Au Revoir,

Raechel