The Bubble-nator

I am a crazy cat lady (we are everywhere).  I have the most gorgeous kitty ever; she's a five-year-old silver tabby with a white tummy, and her name is Annie.  She is insanely smart.  Anyone who has met her will gush over her intelligence.  Among other things, she likes to jump at the light-switches in the hallway to turn off and on the lights; she climbs onto the TV in my mom's bedroom, where she presses the buttons up there and messes with the volume and settings (we have woken up in this house due to the T.V.'s blaring, courtesy of my baby cat); she can fit just about anywhere; and she knows a lot of words.  Those are just a few examples.

One of her favorite words happens to be "bubbles."  She picked up on that term especially quickly.  Whenever she's in hiding, "bubbles" is the word that will get her to come running, and she mews when she sees me holding up a bottle of Miracle Bubbles.  That got me to thinking, "How would she react to a bubble machine?"  I bought one off of Amazon.  She absolutely adores it.  The one I got for her spews out multitudes of bubbles at a fast pace, and I don't doubt she could watch them for hours, still mesmerized.  She hunts them, too (and sometimes my parents' Dachshund joins in.  He's a clodhopper.  Meanwhile, my mom's cat remains apathetic).  We call Annie's machine "The Bubble-nator."

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My next topic might be regarding latch-hook rugs, which I love to make (not kits; kits can be boring).  I have photos, too.  Preview: