The snorting and snuffling that has gone on around here the past month is disgusting. Slaves are gross with their big boogery noses, especially those little ones–I mean, their heads are only so big…how do they hold so much stuff?
Anyway, I am going to start making them pay a toll for a tissue. I’ll be rich!
It’s my lap.
And it’s my laptop.
It’s time I asserted my rights.
MK: “Now post something to my site, Typing Slave, or these claws come unsheathed!”
I am not a couch. I am not a chair. I am not a horse. I am not a bus. I am not a log. I am not bleachers. I am not a park bench.
I am not happy with Pink Thing.
Ok, so the Advantage Flea Stuff didn’t work for the 4 weeks prescribed. I could have told Typing Slave the little buggers were still a-buggin, but she didn’t realize we cats were still infested, a mere 3 weeks after the initial application, until the evil pests nearly ate Pink Thing alive while leaving TS and Food Slave completely alone. Big D is rife with fleas; in fact one might surmise the bugs never vacated his plush, hairy body.
Typing Slave is all flustered about the situation. Did she apply the Advantage wrong? Should she try a different brand? Will mothballs and fleabombs and other household treatments work? Do we have superpowered alien fleas that laugh at chemical warfare? (This would be supported by my hypothesis Big D was bodysnatched that night he escaped.) What is going on and why can’t Typing Slave fix this situation? It’s what we (don’t) pay her for.
In fact I’d go so far as to say it makes me CROSS. So today when Typing Slave attempted to reapply the Advantage, I scratched her, escaped, and then writhed tauntingly on the floor just out of her reach. It’s not as easy for her to chase me down with her big fat belly. It was a fun game, almost worth being caught and treated. I acted like the Advantage between my shoulder blades was burning torture, dashing erratically about the house and giving Typing Slave the wild eye, to make her feel guiltier.
Big D sat like a lump during his turn and then ate up his treats like the lurch he is. Or the alien. The fleabitten alien.
It’s 4 days after the human holiday of Thanksgiving, at least in this country, and I have yet to taste the smallest morsel of turkey. I mean, come on! My ancestresses came over on that leaky tub of a Santa Maria, and I want my desserts. Not just desserts, but entrees, too.
All kinds of lists about what humans are thankful for posted on other blogs, I noticed, when I read over Typing Slave’s shoulder. Forget that sweetie crap. Here’s what I’m NOT thankful for:
1) I haven’t gotten any turkey yet, and I know it’s in the fridge. I smell it. Dang! I want some turkey!
2) Foodslave won’t let me in the bathroom at 6:17 a.m. when he’s taking a shower, and no thanks to him I have to scratch on the door and howl, waking Typing Slave and usually Pink Thing, too, who are then grouchy with me.
3) The slaves got Pink Thing a horrible singing toy snowman, and it…won’t…shut…up. Must sabotage in the wee hours.
4) It’s cold outside these days. Normally this isn’t a problem, since I’m a housecat, but it means my favorite snoozy spot upstairs is cold as well. The slaves need to run the heater up there full time. Like I care about the cost.
5) The slaves are debating the wisdom of putting up a holiday tree this year, considering what I always do to it. Why is there even a question?? I love that jungle gym with sparly lights and toys! They should leave it downstairs year round. Only make the toys edible.
6) Not only did I not get any turkey, but last week the slaves vacated my premises for several days and there was ONLY dry food, no snackies or tuna.
7) Big D keeps escaping to the alien outside and we all know what that leads to — fleas. Can’t the slaves keep a better watch on the hairy Houdini? It’s not like he’s invisible to the eye.
8) Typing Slave *still* won’t let me sprawl and knead on her stomach, and it’s getting bigger by the day. What’s in there, a watermelon? I don’t like watermelon. Or maybe that’s where all the dang turkey went.
9) Two days ago at 3 a.m. I had an itch I couldn’t reach between my shoulder blades and nobody got out of bed to scratch it. In fact when I demanded their services, they shut me out of the bedroom.
10) I’m not thankful for the fact this list could keep going and going and going until it got to, like, 137 or something. How mistreated am I, that there are so many things in my life to be unthankful for?
Now it’s your turn. What are you unthankful for?
When Big D escaped the other night and returned as an alien abductee, he also returned with a little souvenir of his adventure: fleas. This is offensive to me, as the fleas have migrated from Big D, though you’d think there’s be enough of him to go around, and now me and my delicate skin are harassed by vermin.
I am getting my revenge on the slaves by constantly scratching while on their dining table and in the Typing Slave’s precious recliner. Why am I revenging myself on the slaves when it’s Big D who brought this plague upon us, you ask? Because they’re the dumb butts who let him out in the first place. At least, we’re operating under the assumption it’s him. I haven’t tricked him into Pink Thing’s bath yet to see if he can breathe under water.