I grew up in the 1960s in small house that

I grew up in the 1960s in small house that fit a family of seven just fine in those days. There was no such thing as not sharing a bedroom with another sibling, or

having my own pair of underwear. I tended not to mind too much except I am a boy and I only has sisters.

Indeed boys underwear wear was my special memorabilia. I collected them. They gave me good luck, and on day hopefully, I thought I could pawn them and make a fortune

that would one day help me start up my own underwear for cats business. What could be better? Cats! Underwear!

I can't sew, so I bought the smallest sizes from Agent Provocateur and cut a hole in the pants for a tail. I put bras into Phase 2 of my business plan. Cats are fussy shoppers so

we painted the shopping carts with liquid catnip. All I can say is woah.

Whoa Whoa Wo-oooah. What's new pussycat? Whoa Whoa Who-oooah! I'll soon be kissing your sweet pussy cat lips. Pussycat, Pussycat, I love you. Yes I do-oooo. The shopping cart was

All hell broke loose.

Looser than a Thrift Store turtleneck. Which someone would have probably bought, had all hell not broken loose. See the irony? Yeah. Neither did I.