Black Doggerel

One of my damn fucking shithead pets has destroyed my Cunning Hat. I don't even know which one it was*. It was hanging on the godsdamned fucking COAT RACK where it should have been fucking well out of fucking reach, and I just found a piece of it on the dog couch, all spitty, and the bulk of it on the cat bed with a bloody great hole in the side.

I'm having to sit very still on my chair not to go and kick anyone. I'M SORRY PETUNIA. I SWEAR I THOUGHT THEY COULDN'T REACH IT. I LOVED THAT FUCKING HAT. It's not even like any of them has a history of tearing my clothes up or anything; this just completely blindsided me.

Just when it's cold enough that I've been actually wearing it too. :/






*Spike.

It's the first really cold day of the season and I am sitting at my desk wearing a hand-knitted black and maroon mobius snood.

I LOVE IT.

In other news, ( cats are obnoxious bitches. )

*whiiiine*

so today i decided it was time to turn the heating off in the cat room. evidently the cats disapprove of this move; I lost my balance climbing over furniture to get to the radiator, fell and slammed my head against a wall rather harder than it likes to be slammed against anything unyielding.

it's not that bad. didn't pass out, not puking and only a bit dizzy. but there's a huge great tender lump and I feel very whiny and sorry for myself. I am going to take the rest of today as easily as it can be taken.

*whinegrumpcomplain*

fucking cats. fucking warm weather. if i had my winter back none of this would have happened. ow.

Dear Spike and Squish,

Considering that we got trapped on a narrow path between a German Shepherd behind us and a Boxer mix in front of us and had no choice but to get much closer to both of them than Spike's usual comfort zone - you two kept your shit together remarkably well. I love you both SO MUCH. Have a sausage.

Dear Owner Of the Aforementioned Boxer Mix,

Would it have hurt to back off just a little and let us get off the path? Did Spike's raised hackles and "KHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!!!" face look to you like bringing your puppy closer was a good idea? Then why do it? Okay, I did get him to calm down, but no thanks to you. If the GSD owner hadn't stayed back and let us off the path things could have turned quite unpleasant. Grow a brain plz.

Dear Cats, and especially Cassie,

I always give you a treat when I come back from dogwalking. I always have. Every time for two years now. Why, then, have you suddenly now decided that you need to yell your head off at me to remind me? And how long will it take to get through your food-obsessed head that I will stand there not giving you the treat until you shut the hell up?

in other news, my elbow is buggered again. Spike was very pully that week we were walking to Mum's nightly, and I seem to have slept on it badly last night and compounded the problem. It would be fine if I could only find my fucking elbow brace. But I've not needed it since Blogathon last year and I'm damned if I know where it went. On the other hand, hunting for it looks like it might be bringing on a Roz-attack...

Note to self: when keeping dog treats handy on your desk for reminding Spike why he shouldn't bark out of the window, a Ziploc bag is not sufficient. Find a screw top jar. That cat doesn't need to be any fatter.

Wooo! Only three hours to go, people! And my eleven o'clock victim is none other than the lovely vatoengland.

She thought she'd been so careful. So foresighted. She never left the house without first scanning for alien technology, never ate or drank anything she hadn't synthesised herself, didn't even go to sleep without switching on the motion detectors, calibrated to pick up and alert to anything from nanogene-sized upwards.

...Anything, that is, except for the familiar members of her own household. Little did she know she was harbouring, in her own hearth and home, something quite other than the friendly, clownish multicoloured kitten she'd grown to love. Little did she know that said kitten had been implanted with elaborate post-hypnotic suggestions from the day of her birth, awaiting the day she'd be given the signal to act on those fiendish, subconscious impulses she didn't even know she carried.

Everyone was baffled to find vatoengland stark and cold, with just the yarn tail of the catnip mouse still dangling from her lips.

Buh. Came back from dog walk and thought "why are cats yelling at me?" Then I realised it was their breakfast time and not the middle of the night still. Trouble was, I'd forgotten to defrost any chicks for them last night... so I had to give them some of my cooked cold chicken. Now, they LOVE cooked cold chicken. But they still glared at me as though I were offering them fresh dogshit laced with antifreeze. Just because it wasn't what they were expecting. Cats suck!

Just time for one swift murder: Bill, you will be hypocritically prayed over and then publicly boiled with much pomp and circumstance. I will be in the front row of spectators, eating rum and raisin ice cream.

I'm crashing a little, but I promise at least one gory murder in the next entry.

Another cat-owning milestone: our first hairball hork.

*manages not to puke, just*

Dear Dogs and Cats -

They're not a tug toy. They're not a cat swing. They're not - I'm looking at you, Squish - food. THEY ARE MY DAMN UNDERPANTS. LEAVE THEM THE FUCK ALONE PLSTHX.

P.S. Spike - cold nose to the top of the thigh also not funny.