It's your day!
The fact that I'm a sad, sorry individual with nothing resembling a real life is probably not news to anyone. Right now, my existence revolves around my cats and my TV shows, and the neighbors all know at this point that I'm slightly deranged, as I spend most of my time talking to the cats and the TV.
Every week, when that day between Thursday and Saturday rolls around, I spend every waking moment chasing Friday around the house, proclaiming "It's your day, Friday!" As if they named the day after my cat (it's not outside the realm of possibility in my little world). Friday's reaction generally hovers somewhere between humoring me and running under the chaise to avoid looking the crazy bitch in the eyes.
Once a month, when the date between the 12th and the 14th occurs, it's poor little Puffington's turn, and he gets an entire 24 hellish hours of "It's your day, Thirteen!" Which, all things considered, probably isn't half bad compared to the way Squirl and I have turned the General Hospital theme song into Thirteen's personal anthem (if you don't want to bleed out of your eyes, don't ask for details on this).
Then there are time like today, where it just so happens to be Friday's and Thirteen's day. Frankly, I'm exhausted from all the chasing and exclaiming. Although I should point out that its being Thirteen's day in no way precludes his being soaked down with the water bottle when he refuses to stop treating my love seat as a scratching post.
Anyway, it's their day, whether they like it or not, and as is my tradition, I'm offering up new pictures of their poor, abused faces for your consideration.
Every week, when that day between Thursday and Saturday rolls around, I spend every waking moment chasing Friday around the house, proclaiming "It's your day, Friday!" As if they named the day after my cat (it's not outside the realm of possibility in my little world). Friday's reaction generally hovers somewhere between humoring me and running under the chaise to avoid looking the crazy bitch in the eyes.
Once a month, when the date between the 12th and the 14th occurs, it's poor little Puffington's turn, and he gets an entire 24 hellish hours of "It's your day, Thirteen!" Which, all things considered, probably isn't half bad compared to the way Squirl and I have turned the General Hospital theme song into Thirteen's personal anthem (if you don't want to bleed out of your eyes, don't ask for details on this).
Then there are time like today, where it just so happens to be Friday's and Thirteen's day. Frankly, I'm exhausted from all the chasing and exclaiming. Although I should point out that its being Thirteen's day in no way precludes his being soaked down with the water bottle when he refuses to stop treating my love seat as a scratching post.
Anyway, it's their day, whether they like it or not, and as is my tradition, I'm offering up new pictures of their poor, abused faces for your consideration.
Katy Barzedor proclaimed this to be so at 11:39 AM
7 of you felt the overwhelming need to say somethin':
Someone with paraskevidekatriaphobia wouldn't bode well in your, well, abode :-P
Boy, they sure look abused, don't they? Thirteen! cue the music
You're like the poor white trailer trash version of my yammering-to-myself-and-dog hippie wilderness chick.
Well, not LIKE it, you ARE it!
They are lovely kitties and so blessed to have a Bucky to celebrate their special days.
Water bottle. I know I forgot something that would put Alex off from clawing my balls to get my attention. I must find where the cat hid the water bottle.
Awww... such cute kitties. It's so sweet how they put up with you. :)
Kitties!!
It's no different than my asking my cat, "What are you doing with your pants?" Or telling him to "Move your pants!" Or "Look at your pants!"
It's just funny to talk to a cat about his pants. I crack myself up.
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