Well if last Sunday was a sucksation, this Sunday has been a suckamarooni of a Sunday. A suckgasm. A suckicane. A suckingsuckofasuck-a-thon. A suckasauris-sized suck of a day.
Actually, it hasn't been that bad. I mean, it's just sort of sucked.
My husband and I kept getting blasted awake last night because that little cat whose picture I took last Sunday has decided that she wants to live here and Maurice and Jack are not having it. I don't know if the cat is a male or a female but I'm just calling it a she because it's a little cat. Anyway, last night before I went to bed, I was walking to the kitchen to make the coffee for this morning when I saw the dang thing run out of the kitchen where she had no doubt been dining on the high-quality Publix brand cat food I offer, and head towards our room. Immediately outside our room is the laundry room and there is a cat door tucked away in a corner there which our cats use to come in and out at will.
Obviously, Little Cat has figured that out.
And obviously, the creature used it to come in at least twice last night and was immediately discovered by one or both of our cats resulting in hisses and screams and things being knocked off of dressers.
NOT a good way to wake up in the darkest hours.
This is just not going to work. As I have said over and over again, there is no way another cat could possibly fit into the already constant battle between Maurice and Jack that rages here constantly. At best there is a day or two of some sort of feline-negotiated ceasefire and then the fur literally flies again.
I feel deeply sorry for the stray cat but I simply cannot encourage its presence. I guess it does not belong to a neighbor. And what we should do is catch it and take it to the animal shelter but I am not going to be the one to do that and Mr. Moon is leaving Tuesday morning way before the crack of dawn.
Every time I think about him leaving I get a little sad and teary. I am worried about him being on a plane. I am worried about him being in Las Vegas. I am worried about his entire trip. I feel sad and my stomach hurts. And I have done nothing to achieve any sense of accomplishment today at all. Nothing. I feel hot and sticky and itchy and fatter than the fattest walrus who ever rolled across an ice floe into the ocean to search for another school of fish to eat.
And exactly that chic, spritely, and physically attractive.
Oh, poor, poor me.
Here's the only picture I've taken today.
"I am not staying out there until three or four in the morning," he told me.
God I hope not.
And she made the pansy too, of course.