Sunday

I know, rationally, that it’s a good thing that smoke detectors make an obnoxious chirping sound when the battery is almost dead. Whoever came up with the idea was very smart and deserves a cookie or two for deep thinking. It forces those of us who have cheap batteries into replacing them more than once a year, and potentially saves our sorry butts.

However.

Whoever designed them so that the battery would always die in the middle of the night (and for me 4:45 a.m. is the middle of the night) needs to be taken out somewhere and beaten about the head and shoulders with a size 15 never-before-washed gym shoe of the skankiest teenager ever to grace a locker room.

And whoever then designed the smoke detector itself to be so difficult to open that it would take over an hour just to get to the dying battery…well, they should not only get whacked with the dirty gym shoe, but kicked in the shin as well.

And both should be locked in a room with Max, who decided that because I was awake, it MUST be time to for breakfast. And when Max decides it’s time for breakfast, Max does not shut up until he gets it. He will meow repeatedly, every 2.4 seconds, until he gets what he wants.

That’s annoying enough in the afternoon; at 6 a.m. it’s enough to make a person want to let the kitty go for a ride in the clothes dryer. Or at the very least, bonk him over the head with my Mighty Holy Pepsi…

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