Friday, March 09, 2007

Spawns of Satan

If cats were spiders, I'd be getting out my can of industrial strength Raid.

I've truly had it with my two, who have never met a table they didn't scratch, a breakable they didn't break, or oh, I don't know, a Christmas fucking tree they didn't knock over. I awoke this morning, at 5 a.m. let me add, to the sound of vacuuming.

Of course the good one (that would be the dog) was fast asleep on his bed, snoring gently, paws twitching as he dreamed his sweet, innocent doggy dreams of chasing squirrels and breaking nothing.

When I went downstairs, I found my very irritated husband cleaning up broken glass and water. I had set a vase out yesterday of cuttings from a plant I wanted to root and re-pot. "Oh, something new!" said the evil kitties. "Cool, let's knock it over!" And so they did, in the middle of the night when no one was looking because that's what sneaky little bastards do.

Don't call the ASPCA on me, I'm not going to drown them or anything but I have to say, the desire is strong. Especially since they are only 9. However, they are both very fat so I figure that ought to shorten their life span a little.

Note to self: Buy the high fat cat food.

P.S. I just dropped beau coup bucks on some face cream guaran-damn-teed to spackle every wrinkle, "literally pushing the skin outward and flattening wrinkles...and improving the skin's matrix." Whatever the hell that is, but hey, I put it on the cats' credit card.

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