2001-03-04

Fun with Whitey

Looky, looky -- an entry.

Not much happening today. The town's getting all geared up for the "major storm" that supposed to hit tomorrow morning -- stocking up on soup and batteries and bottled water.

Kev and I generally don't get too ganked up about these weather advisories, since they seldom turn out to be much more than a couple of inches, and as far as "stocking up" goes, I always say that if we're going to get snowed in, it's the perfect opportunity to get rid of the crap that's already in the cabinets. You know, like, "Why the hell do we have a can of beets back here?" Who eats canned beets? Who buys canned beets? Nobody's fessing up; I think the cat bought them.

Whitey's been a real pain in the ass lately. Her life is all about waiting, waiting for the next serving of wet food. She's up at the crack of ass, making little snuffling noises in my ear. I come home at night, and she yowls at me until I deliver the goods.

We're thinking of having her made into a paperweight.

I find myself talking to her like she's another housemate. One night, the wet food came right from the fridge, so the gravy was congealed, and she looked at it, then looked up at me as if to say, "You ignorant slut; do you honestly expect me to eat that?" So I said, "Well, you poor thing. I think this merits a call to the MSPCA...and...oh, jeez, you can't dial, can you? Guess you're going to have to deal."

The new thing now is jumping up on the kitchen table. It's amazing -- the chutzpah of this animal. We've turned it to our advantage, though; with each jump up Kev and I get to play out our Max von Sydow fantasies, spritzing her with water while yelling "The power of Christ compels you!" until she jumps back down and scurries off into the living room. Some fun.

lisamcc at 16:58:06

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