* * *
Reason number 69,298,984 why I married that man:
We were laying bed talking last night, and I said something of a sexual-innuendo nature, and waited for Fred to say something. There was a long, lengthy silence. I assumed he was looking for something smartass to say, and then I started to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. Finally, I turned to face him.
“Are you there, Margaret?” I said.
And with no hesitation whatsoever and a voice filled with wonder, he said “God?”
That man sure can make me laugh.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, the goddamn cat still hasn’t shat. Every single other day of the week, she shits like every ten seconds. Today, she can’t be bothered. “Yeah, no, sorry. I don’t gotta go. Pardon me while I bite at the ears and belly of this feisty little shithead I birthed out of mine own body and who thinks he can kick my ass, mm’kay?”
I love the little bastardly kitties, but they are ripping my legs to shreds. If she doesn’t poop AND SOON, I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Send happy poopin’ thoughts this way, if you would.
* * *
I just got extremely excited by the fact that she went over to the litter box, but she only had to pee out that entire gallon of water she drank an hour ago. Psyche!
Did you know that it’s correctly spelled “Psyche!” and not “Sike!”? No, I’m sorry, I don’t give a happy goddamn what Urban Dictionary says. It’s “psyche.” When you spell it “sike”, you make my eyes bleed.
* * *
1:00 pm and no shit. NO SHIT. I never thought I’d see the day when I was praying for shit.
My butt hurts from sitting on the floor. I stretched out to take a nap but then Oy, who had been sleeping atop the condo with Edgar, came a-visitin’. And then Fred, who brought his car home at 10:30 so he could leave it in the driveway with the doors open in case there actually is a snake in there, so the snake could get out, called to see if it was raining here. It wasn’t, but about three minutes after he called the sky started looking nasty, so I scooped Oy up and took him downstairs and outside with me. He was very good, just sat on my shoulder and looked around.
Miz Poo was sitting on the table when we came back inside, and I bent over so she and Oy could sniff each other. To my amazement, she did NOT hiss. What the hell is up with that?
Perhaps it’s a sign that we need to keep Oy!
(No, not really.)
* * *
I just ran downstairs to close the cat window (it started raining like hell) and uploaded a few kitten pictures so I can get this entry uploaded, and I hoped against hope that Mia had used the litterbox in the five minutes while I was gone, but NO HOPE, DAMNIT.
Peanut’s trying to nurse and Mia keeps pushing him away. Heh. Poor Peanut! Don’t I wish I’d brought my camera back upstairs with me.
Oh crap. Edgar just woke up peeping (which is what I call the little crying noise the kittens make, shaddup), and ran over to Mia, and then Flossie ran out of the carrier where she was sleeping, and Mia flopped over, and now Flossie, Edgar, and Peanut are wildly trying to nurse. Mia’s not happy, but she’s not fighting them off, either.
Damn I wish I had my camera.
Nobody but NOBODY uses the litterbox in Kitten Town without supervision. Sheriff Snoopy makes sure the law is enforced.
They might be tiny little fangs, but they REALLY HURT when they’re being used on your fingers.
Couldn’t you just squeeze him ’til his guts shot out his nose?
Meester Fang strikes again.
Mia checks the cleanliness of Oy’s butt. I think this is the cat version of your mother asking if you’re wearing clean underwear.
Is it just me, or does he kinda look like a bat?
I guess I’m going to go ahead and post this stupid entry. It’s 1:38 and Mia STILL HAS NOT POOPED, DAMNIT.
Send happy poopin’ thoughts to North Alabama, if you would. I’ll see y’all on Monday.
* * *
Spot. He lurves the sun.