Well, a few things have been learned today.
- Sometimes you have to pay to party, and catnip does, in fact, cause a hang over.
Human number one returned home after a glorious win at Tuesday night Euchre league to find all three cats had retreated to their respective lairs. The feeling of tension from day one has been replaced by one of exhausted quiet. Volde-Floyd has claimed the living room cat bed for his own. Irish hates it and absolutely will not sleep in it despite its fluffy goodness, but Floyd refuses to believe that. Instead, he has sprawled himself across it provocatively, clearing spelling, —Hey ladies be jealous— and — I’m… too sexy for my cat bed — in body language. The girls, without their cat nip goggles, are not impressed.
The Zelda the Twilight-Raver Princess spent the day in various positions of laying about with a moral hangover and coughing up hairballs. As any of you who struggle with post-party stomach issues can attest, there is nothing quite like a hangover puke… or hairball. Luckily, warm snuggles cure almost anything, and she is currently finding sweet sweet solace spooning with human number two. Things are definitely looking up.
Upon conclusion of the dance party, Irish came to the horrifying realization that pasties do not, in fact, remove easily from fur — especially when one’s fur is as fluffy and luxurious as hers. She contemplated giving herself a haircut, but then remembered what happened last winter when she cheaped out on a stylist and used that Groupon for Taft Salon and Spa. Instead, she opted to just chug a water and wait until her thoughts were clearer before deciding what to do — a decision of which she was incredibly proud.
#adulting.
Human number one found her collapsed face-down in bed, covers drawn over her head pretending the world outside wasn’t real.
- Food is always better when someone delivers it to you.
Opening the door at 11:16 PM, human number one flicked on the apartment light thinking only about immediately going to sleep. Instead, she was greeted by Volde-Floyd’s expectant stare.
“What?” she asked, apprehensively.
He flicked his tail against his cat bed and gestured toward the kitchen.
“You can’t be serious.”
Floyd narrowed his gaze, indicating that he clearly was.
Wilting under his gaze and honestly a bit afraid he would slash her with his claws in her sleep, human number one went to the kitchen, retrieved 5 cat treats, and delivered them to the cat bed.
Floyd immediately dug in with a satisfied purrrrrrr.
“Ungrateful little—” the human began to mutter, but was interrupted by Irish peeking her head out from under the covers with a pathetic welp.
Shaking her head, human number one grabbed a scoop of cat food and delivered it to Rish’s empty bowl in the master bedroom. Apparently the full-to-the-brim food dispenser in the living room was too far away for her to manage.The food tink-tink-tinkled down as it filled the bowl – the sound of rain on a tin roof or the someone peeing daintily in a toilet.
At the noise, all three cats came running as if it were late night Sarapinos. After a quick sniff of the bowl, Volde-Floyd looked up with disdain and said, “Where’s the ranch?”
Go fuck yourself cats. I’m going to bed.
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