Okay, this pet thing — I had never intended this to be an on-going blog, but just have to add this. I’m wondering once again why I put up with them.
Let’s start with the food. the 3 trays of cat food — the shreds, the pate and fish. Just for a change-up, I got them fish. I put some in their dishes. Yes! fish! They were tired of chicken and happy with fish. For three days. No? You don’t like fish anymore? Okay, let’s try the shreds. But once the gravy has been licked off, the rest is left to dry out. How about the pate? No? You don’t like that either? Well then, how about NOTHING?? How about I stop giving you food altogether? How about I just let you STARVE!! Yeah, you think you’d like that? Do you know how much all this costs? No, you don’t. And you don’t give a flying flip, do you?
They listen to my rant with that absolutely blank look. And I’ll still keep buying food and putting it in the dish and tossing what they didn’t like down the garbage disposal. I think the garbage disposal eats more than the cats do. Damn.
But it’s not only cat food I’m buying. I am also buying bedroom slippers. Yeah, remember the ones that slipped in the cat erp? I had to throw those suckers out. They fell apart after the trip through the washer. On-line I found a pair that looked great. I bought them. I liked them, but they came half way up my calves. Perfect for winter. I’ll put those aside and get something for summer. Pair #2 – mules. Cute, but every time I lifted my foot they slipped off. (Well, they were slippers, after all.) I offer them to Paula – they work for her.
Okay, back on-line for pair number 3. Cute little kitty-cat slippers with a back so my foot won’t slip out. Size 8-10. I take a 9. This should work — uh, turns out they are heavy on the 8, nowhere near a 10. I feel like Cinderella’s wicked stepsister cramming my foot into them. “I’ll make them work,” I mutter as I feel my toenail already seeking a way through the soft material. Hell and damn – these won’t last a month. I should add the prices of all the slippers to the cost of all the wasted cat food and take it out of their allowance. If they got an allowance.
So now after I’ve modified my Chewy order — remove the fish, remove the shreds, add dry food — and I’ve crammed my foot into the cute kitty cat slippers, I head for bed. It’s late I’m tired and sick of trying to figure out the cat food dilemma — I can’t let them starve for all my bold talk. I’m also annoyed that I have to shop on-line and can’t just go to a store and buy some damn bedroom slippers.
I’m nearly asleep when Black Jack jumps up on the bed and sprawls out next to me. Even though I’m ready to wring his neck, I still do love the little fool. I reach out my hand in the dark to give him a good scratch between the ears. Feels funny. He yowls and jumps. I yank my hand back and turn on the light. Black Jack ls sitting straight up with his tail wrapped tightly around him glaring at me. Oops, I wasn’t scratching between the ears! Scratching between the … ah … yeah, wrong end of the cat.
I dash to the bathroom to wash my hands. Scrub my hands. When I get back, he is nowhere to be seen. I finally settle down, practice deep breathing and try to put it all out of my mind.
Damn those cats, they’re costing me money and my sanity, too, and now they’re driving me to swear. Drinking’s next. Damn.