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verbicideI love my cat. Really, I do. And I know he loves me.
But why does his love have to be so evil?
It regularly involves nearly tripping me when I get home, while he squalls for food. Once fed, he rushes to eat four bites, and then to show his appreciation, he jumps around in the litter box, taking extra care to squash all manner of litter between the pads of his paws, runs over to jump on my desk in order to scatter it all over my nice clean desk.
But then he lies down on top of my arms, snuggles against my chest, and manages to once again escape death. Now he's darted off to have a bath.
But why does his love have to be so evil?
It regularly involves nearly tripping me when I get home, while he squalls for food. Once fed, he rushes to eat four bites, and then to show his appreciation, he jumps around in the litter box, taking extra care to squash all manner of litter between the pads of his paws, runs over to jump on my desk in order to scatter it all over my nice clean desk.
But then he lies down on top of my arms, snuggles against my chest, and manages to once again escape death. Now he's darted off to have a bath.
