It is not funny to lift the lid on the giant litterbox when you see me running into the bathroom to spend a little quality time with you.
There’s water in there!
Look, I don’t know what your last nerve is, but if I’m on it, I don’t care.
I don’t know what Professional Wrestling is, nor who Hulk Hogan and Steve Austin are. I don’t care.
But if a “body slam” gets your lazy ass out of bed in the morning to feed me, I’m going to keep doing it.
If you would get up a couple hours earlier, and feed me before you head for the litterbox and before you get dressed, I wouldn’t have to do it. So until then, enjoy the 14 pounds of slick, black, furry feline wonder dropping onto your gut, baby.
Oooh. Shrimpy Goodness.
The Man shared, and nicely, so it's now naptime...
The Sticky Little Creatures are back; at least, they’re outside more often, yelling and screaming and laughing at these horrible, ear-splitting levels. I sit in my window and watch them—heck, even the birds scatter when one of them gets close. Who can blame them?
The other day the Woman left the front door open, and took the glass off the screen so we could get some fresh air, and the Man put a box in front of it so I could see out better. They went outside, I think to talk to other People (though I haven’t figured out why that’s so much fun, just standing there and talking without food being involved), but after a while he brought one of the Sticky Little Creatures to the door to see me.
I don’t mind this one so much, as long as he stays on that side of the door. He doesn’t squeal at me, and even if I press my face up to the screen, he doesn’t poke. There’s some kind of game he was trying to play—he kept crouching down where I couldn’t see him and then he popped back up—but I didn’t get it. It amused him, so what the heck.
The key is that door…as long as the Sticky Things stay on the outside, I can tolerate them, I suppose. They are entertaining sometimes, especially when they’re rolling down the street on their wheeled toys, and sometimes even when they get seriously ticked off at the Big People.
I love a good temper tantrum.
It’s nice out today, but I haven’t seen any of them out there yet. I think the Big People are hiding them.
Let’s get something straight:
If it’s on the floor, it’s mine.
If you drop it, it’s mine.
If it’s on the table and you walk away from it, it’s mine.
If it’s on the counter and you’re not looking, it’s mine.
In fact, if it’s in your hand and I can get to it, it’s mine.
If you don't like waking up with my ass in your face, may I suggest that you get your lazy self up about an hour earlier than you normally do? It would benefit both of us: I would get fed when I'm hungry, and you'd avoid the glory of the remnants of things YOU had cut off WITHOUT my consent.
Strange fishy, found while sneakily poking through the Woman’s hard drive:
I think I’m glad this never winds up in one of my cans of Stinky Goodness.
That skin looks awfully hard to chew through…
See? See what happens when you let sticky little people touch you?
NOTHING GOOD, that's for sure!
I could have told them that, but they never listen, anyway.
The Man let sticky little people touch him, and now he's sick. He's got this nasty cough and he keeps blowing his nose like it's some sort of magical horn, and he sounds like he ate a blowtorch.
All this from letting one of THOSE creatures get too close.
I'm telling you, People, you need to get rid of the little ones. They're dangerous things to have around.
It’s not fair. I got to the comfy chair first, and what do you do? You pick me up and stick me on your lap. If I wanted to be on your lap, I’d climb up there myself. But I’m flexible, so I wander into the other room and curl up in the desk chair. I get nice and comfortable, and almost asleep, and what do you do?
You freaking come in there, pick me up and take me back to the other chair, so you can sit at the desk!
And you do the same damn thing at least twice more in one evening!
Make up your fricking mind!
Yeah, yeah, yeah, so you actually moved me from one chair to another nice one, when you could have just dumped me on the floor…but Lady, you could have just let me sleep! You only moved me ’cause you’re afraid I’ll leave you a present on your pillow.
If God didn't want me to head-butt you awake every morning, he would not have placed your nose so far out from your face, where it is within easy reach.
Here's a thought: if you don't want me to lick the chicken, don't leave it on the counter.
Simple as that.
You know what's not fair? People can eat whenever they want, whatever they want. I have to freaking ask for food, and nine times out of ten they're so dense they don't understand what I want, which means I have to resort to begging. They leave out this dry crap for me, but dammit, they should know what I want! I shouldn't have to humiliate myself for a can of Stinky Goodness!
I hate people.
Damn them and their opposable thumbs.