The cats and I have fallen into a nice little routine here together. I’d never really thought about it until now, but they’ve never lived alone with just me… ever. When I took Ralph in and she had Weaz I was living with my sister and later my friend Jack. Then I moved my new herd of cats in with my friend Lindsay. And then Stew and I moved in together and got Waldo, too. So adjusting to a home with just the three of us has been interesting.
It’s like when you regularly hang out with a group of people until one night everyone cancels but one person and you suddenly realize you don’t know that person at all. Awkward.
Luckily, the cats and I like many of the same things. Jeopardy…
[Did you know that 71-year-old Alex Trebec blew out his freaking Achilles tendon chasing an intruder out of his hotel room this past week? And also that in recounting the event he specified that he FIRST put on his underwear and THEN went chasing after her? This style of dress involves wearing nothing at all over your genitalia and is completely inappropriate for a 71-year-old man. What is commando? R-S-T-L-N-E, Vanna!]
The Bachelorette, duh…
Um, at least two of us like cuddling.
And as of tonight, we’ve learned there is one thing we all HATE. And that is bugs getting all up in our shit.
Any time I see one of the cats looking at something I can’t see, I know something terrible is about to go down. When I see both cats looking at something I can’t see, I brace myself for the worst. Last night the worst came in the form of a godforsaken palmetto bug, which for anyone north of the Mason Dixon is a ROACH. It’s just that down here in the Dirty Dirty we like our shit classy so we make up waspy names for even the lowliest of life forms.
Weaz decided she wanted to go first but I promptly pulled her away and made her wait on the couch knowing full well that having never lived on the streets, she’s too stupid to hunt and would surely chase the damn thing straight into my bed. So I put my fierce little mini lion Ralph in charge instead.
The little bastard didn’t stand a chance and was down for the count in less than 10 seconds. At which point I started jumping around shouting: WHOSE HOUSE? RALPHIE’S HOUSE! WHOSE HOUSE? RALPHIE’S HOUSE. (This really happened.) Then I doused it in Febreeze for good measure. Just in case. And because I don’t have any poison in the house.
Let this be a lesson to all you other bugs. We gon’ find you.
Where were YOU on that one, Weaz?