It’s the love that dare not speak its name. December 20, 2007
My kittehs! They be humpin!
Hey! Harley!

No, don’t give me that puppy look with those big brown eyes. I’m mad at you. Yes, I AM. Why did you wake me up at 2 AM to go to the potty, when I took you out at 11 PM to go and you wouldn’t go? Why 2 AM? I am mad at you. No, don’t snuggle with me. Don’t rub your head on my leg and give me sweet little looks. It’s not working.
And YOU! Cat!
What’s with the puking on the floor this morning? Why did you have to do that? No, don’t come over here and purr at me. Don’t do that. No, I do NOT want you on my lap licking my hand. I am very angry with you both. You bad widdle sweethearts you.
Long story short: my cat is a pig.
Well, technically not a real pig, but a piggish eater. She is eating so fast and furiously lately that she’s taken to horking it up all over the house. Lovely!
So we’ve gone back to just twice a day feedings, and so far, so good (had the perpetual trough of food out before). Now she’s seriously giving me the ol’ fish eye - I’m kind of getting nervous. She always sits and stares at me all day as I work.
On the other hand, George is lolling in front of the gas fireplace right now; we did have some serious kitty porn there for a second, but it’s over now.