Happy where-the-hell-did-January-go Caturday to you and yours. Ralph is feeling feisty and spontaneous and a little bit jealous that I went to the Bahamas without her and keeps trying to talk me into another trip. Talk away, Ralphus. Mamma’s got bills to pay. And you see that ominous stack of papers piling up on the desk? Those are tax documents. Look away. Look away, lest they burn a hole through your pure, innocent little tax-evading soul.
Weaz is definitely gonna get audited this year.
Easily the most exciting thing that has happened in our (Ralph, Weaz and me) collective life this week was that I washed my sheets. And my comforter. I will not disclose the last time this happened.
Ralph hovered there waiting, just waiting, for the perfect moment to sprawl out on my nice clean bed leaving an army of black hair tumbleweeds in her wake. Guh-ross.
What is with cats and my clean stuff. They do this to my clean clothes too. Which I leave in a pile on my dresser. Duh. Because my closet is tiny and it frustrates me to try and hang things in it. This is logical.
And with that, we’re off to sleep in our clean bed. All three of us. Every night. Don’t be so jealous.