argh

Jan. 19th, 2004 10:35 pm
verbicide: (Default)
[personal profile] verbicide
Holy shit, it's cold.

All I want to do at this point is get in bed and read, but I'm afraid I'll fall asleep, which I can't do tonight because I have to pick up Ellie and Jeff from SeaTac at 11:30pm. I should note that they were too nice to ask for a ride, I volunteered. So this is completely of my own making.

I need to put on a million more layers. Granted, it's only about 45, but for some reason, I'm freezing.

There's no greater martyr than a cat whose wet food has run out. Hobbes gets 3/4 cup of kibble to nosh on all day and then 1/4 can of wet food at night. He begins to panic about the wet food at 11:30am. Today I've run out of wet food and plan to hit the store on the way home from dropping Ellie and Jeff at home. Hobbes began gently reminding me of his dietary needs around 7pm. Nudging, head-butting. Caterwauling. He's now settled on the bed and has a fixed malevolent look to him.

I've tried to assure him that food is forthcoming as soon as I get home, but he doesn't seem to understand.

There's nothing more humbling than being enslaved to a creature that licks its own ass.
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