“March,” he says…

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“March,” my Master says.

Yesterday bright sunshine, suitable for sunbathing. I, Frimousse, at the bottom of the logs, and my friend RouXy, as usual, in the wooden crate – watch carefully you’ll (nearly) see part of him! In the morning, a summer habit, he had his milk and fromage frais on the round metal table under my lime-tree.

And this morning… snow.

“That’s March,” my Master says again…

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