Before moving to Paris, Paula and I enjoyed a good-bye dinner at Plouf where our Parisien waiter teased me that my bordelais husband was actually a bol de lait, and probably too backwoods to make it in the savvy capital of La France.
That's because most Parisiens don't have a backyard! Last weekend as I lay dying (thank you for the well wishes and excellent links, I'm feeling all better and I'm caught up on Grey's Anatomy!), Fred worked the land.
Armed with a box of Gazon and the goddess of fertility, Fred planted his seeds.
Since I was still too weak to bark orders, a meow would have to do. Bilbo was put in charge of supervising Fred's work.
Please check back in 10 days to see if the grass is growing, or if it was a mistake to put a cat in charge of a "bowl of milk"!