Da Nitely Nooz!

Two Zot girls sit behind a low, polished mahogany table; the skyline of NYC
is a computer graphic behind them. For the theme, "My Favorite Things" from
the Sound of Music is playing...

Cybele: [adjusts tortise-shell half-readers; peers over them] And now, from
Mew Yawk City, itz da nitely Nooz!

Oriane: Yes, it iz kitties, and for tonite we're going to discuss owr
faborite fings!

Cybele: Indeed! So mine deer sisfur, what iz yur faborite fing?

Oriane: Bokses! Bokses! Bokses! Liddle wons, big wons, meedium wons! Dey is
all wunnerful!

Cybele: I knoze! When Amazon dewibers to da hooman, yoo allwayz hab a smile
on yur fayce!

Oriane: Yes, indeed! Dey can be fortresses, condo-miniums, hidy-holes,
pwaces where da two ob usses can snuggle togeffur... [reaches over and gives
her sister a face-rub]

Cybele: And letz no forget da widdle wons dat yoo push to da stairway, and
awwow grabbity to take down da stairz!

Oriane: Yes! Bippity-bop, bippity bop, boom!

Cybele: Oh, doze neighbors must lubs usses!

Oriane: I is sure dey do! An yoo mine deer, whatz yur fabborite fing -
besides foods, dat iz?

Cybele: Cwinkle ballz! Shiny, cwinkly mylar cwinkle balls, sprayed wif
likwid catnip den rolled in leafy catnip!

Oriane: Ahh, yes, yoo duz lubs dem! Especikally wen yoo get stoned from dat
'nip!

Cybele: Oh yes! Dere is nuffin wikes getting nipped-up and pwayink wif a
shiny, mylar cwinkle ball!

Oriane: I lubs da way yoo cawwy it in yur mouf and sing a seranade to
eberrybody!

Cybele: Yes, indeed! I do hab a wubbwy voice, duzzent I?

Oriane: Certainly! An I betz dat da nayborz wubb dat cat seranade!

Cybele: [Both smile] So kitties, we is asking owr lissners to write in and
tells us what dere faborite fings iz!

Oriane: Dats rite! Just post here an tells usses!

Cybele: Datz it fur tonight, Be well and be cute!

Both: [singing to My Favorite Things] Meeeeeeee-owwwwwwww, MeeeeeeeeOWWWWWW,
MeeeeOOOOOwwwwwww.....

--
Purrs,

Cybèle & Oriane

“I love cats because I take pleasure in my home; and little by little, the
cats become its visible soul.�
Jean Cocteau, 1889-1963

1/23/2012 7:35:01 PM