Sunday mayhem at o-dark hundred hours…

It’s 3:40 a.m. and I’m trying to work up a movie review. The boys are pooped and crashed in their spots on the computer desk: Tito in the basket above and Maz in the doggie bed to the side.

I want to play. Play with me.
I want to play. Play with me.

Miss Jenny still wants to play and is getting bratty about it. She’s carrying this balled up piece of paper, dropping it in Maz’ bed and steps on him to get a reaction. No dice.

She jumps up to Tito’s lair, almost knocking the desk lamp clipped to the side. I can hear Tito sigh, but he doesn’t budge. Down she comes again, picking up her toy once more.

I keeled it.
I keeled it.

She bats it into the space between the TV table and the wall and lunges after it, wedging her front end down there while back-pedaling with her rear.

She farts. Oh God she farted.

She comes up victorious with paper in mouth, I guess. I can’t really tell, my eyes watering and the fumes affecting my inner ear: the image and sound on the TV seem out of sync, because sound travels at a different speed after she ‘alters’ the atmosphere. I put my hands down on the desk to steady myself, Jeez… We need to change her diet progressively, but soon. Much depends on this.

Like, the future…

Ceiling Cat told me to.
Ceiling Cat told me to.


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