Holy fucking shit these fucking kittens are going to be the fucking DEATH of me.

I have just spent an HOUR AND A FUCKING HALF searching my flat for an orange and white kitten.

Spike couldn't find her (but I had him searching the wrong room so not his fault. He tried.) Cassie's too busy yowling for sex to care. I searched the cupboards. I searched the fridge. I turned the dog couch upside down in case she'd managed to crawl up into the springs. I was starting to think about prying the side panel off the bathtub. I even looked out-fucking-side, and she'd have to walk through walls to get there.

I'd reached the point of praying out loud with TEARS running down my face when she casually strolled up behind me in the bedroom, yawning and obviously just having woken up from a nice long sleep while I'd been imploding and the other three had been crackmonkeying around the flat.

I still don't know where the fuck she was.

I need a fucking drink now.

...and am now praying out loud with gratitude, for the record.

From: [identity profile] curefreak.livejournal.com


*LOL* Sorry, I shouldn't laugh, but that just sounds so much like my cat. He is a total indoor cat (Our choice not his I assure). He is always trying to sneak out, so mass panic erupts when he does disappear and he is less than inclined to re-appear when called.

One time, while we had a house sitter, he pulled this stunt. The house sitter looked and looked and looked. The cat eventually surfaced from under a blanket, in the CLOSED wardrobe....he'd opened the door, got in, the door had shut and there he stayed until he was ready and then he pushed open the door and came out.
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