She looks sweet, doesn't she? C and I this morning were calling her hell-beast because she apparently took a disinclination to letting us sleep. She tried to bite my earlets out of my ears, puked on the kitchen floor, and harassed C out of bed rather earlier than she was hoping. This in addition to here usual game of plant-eating and trying in vain to open the closet door. I can't blame her for trying, I suppose, since it is the place in the whole apartment where she is most likely to want to be: dark, quiet, out of the way, vaguely musty, lots of shoes and clothes for her to cover with a stubborn coat of white fluff. In one of my old dwellings, she would crawl inside the furnace, which was bizarrely mounted on the wall. It was very disconcerting to me, but there wasn't much I could do about it.See the look of insane determination? It's all in the eyes, see. Stare too long, and you, too, will be doing her bidding.
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I try to hate her, but it's so goddamn hard. Look at that face! She's like that horrible chid in The Bad Seed--her cuteness is also the source of her evil, and we will all do her depraved bidding.
Why am I suddenly feeling the strange urge to go by tuna, jingle bells, and a DVD copy of An American Tale? These are the things I wonder.
OK, this is funny and all, but you realize you just wrote a blog post about your cat, right?
Although she is an adorable cat-slut with a whorish fuzzy belly.
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