I woke up this morning to the lovely sound of my cat puking her guts out-- repeatedly. At 5am.
Oh Joy!
Since then she has tried to drink the milk out of my cereal when I wasn't looking, walked back and forth over my hands as I typed on the computer (she makes a better door than a window, I have to say), attempted-- yet again-- to knock over the desk lamp with an overabundance of love for the heat the old-style bulb lets out, and finally curled up to purr contentedly in my lap. Which is where she is right now. Getting louder and louder until I finally reach down and pet her-- then the purr is muted again... until I stop. I feel like I'm appeasing a nucleagr reactor or something here.
As a result of this morning, her new name is "Cute Fuzzy Manipulative little Puker." Luckily, she responds well to criticisms. I've only been attacked twice.
1 comment:
Hence why Snip was periodically referred to (intentionally and to her face) as "Sh*t".
And the dog is starting to respond to being called "Brat". Oh dear.
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