Covered In Cat Hair And Nowhere To Go…
The cat picks now, when I’m wearing a clean white sweatshirt to get all snuggly and affection on me. This is the cat that allows petting in 3.5 second spurts, and three times a day maximum. I’m pretty sure he saw the white sweatshirt, thought “Score!” and jumped up in my lap with the Intent to Commit Shedding.
Now that I’m sufficiently all furred up, he wants nothing do to with me.
Any minute now the Boy will be over here; he and the Spouse Thingy are heading over to the storage until we’re renting (you know, one of those places you pay good money to so that you can keep the crap you obviously no longer need) so they can rearrange its contents.
[The contents must be rearranged in order to accommodate even more crap; the Boy’s lease runs out this month and he’s going to move in with us (hence, the emptying out of my office to the bedroom, which is proving to be a sweet deal for me.) It’s just a chance for him to finish up the school year without having to work so many hours. And we have food here. He wants food again.]
I am not allowed to accompany them to the storage unit, because the Spouse Thingy has declared that I shall engage in no overt physical activity until my doctor’s appointment next week, when we’ll find out what’s up with my back. I volunteered to go supervise…but they don’t want me.
No one is being honest: they don’t want me to go, not because of my back, but because I will have to control every aspect of the rearranging, telling them where to put everything.
Because I’m so good at that…
I can tell people where to go, and where to put things.
We all need special talents like that.
So…I have the afternoon alone in the apartment with nothing to do but blog surf and complain that I have nothing to do and nowhere to go…but damn, I look good all covered in PsychoKitty. I should be seen in public.
Instead, I am going to blog surf, eat pie, wait until the cat is snoozing and then jump on the bed, squealing “KITTY!” just to see the look on his face (and it’s payback for his 3 a.m. leap from the bookcase), play on JigZone some, yell at the TV for there not being anything good on, engage in an internal debate about whether or not it’s too late to drink a soda with caffeine—because there are a few cans of diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper in the fridge and I want one—look at VW bug ragtops online and drool, and if they’re not back by the time I’m done with all that…
Good thing there are so many blogs out there.