Franklin is From Chicago
Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But..I mean..he’s so typically big-city Barely tolerating his trips downstate to see his cousins the farm cats. Franklin walks around the edges of the family, not choosing to exactly be a part of the melee. Invading his home turf for one snowy evening in Palatine He gave me his “What the hell are you doing here?” look. And like it or not, he is a part of a family line… Helga One would cajole and initiate things.. The Australian hound would attack and nip… Helga Two would nuzzle up and love… Max spazzes and Phoebe dances around in a teasingly coquettish way… But Franklin…. Franklin tolerates. What others deem judgment, he considers to be “discerning.” “That Christmas tree…nice enough I suppose, but not quite to my liking…” “Albert mows a nice enough yard but he hardly touches my fur when I brush against his leg..” “Elmer…well, he acts as if I’m not here.” Franklin is his own cat, as are they all… But added to that genetic bit of inbred aloofness … Well… Franklin is from Chicago.