Requisite Boring Cat-Related Post
Of all theinfuriating yet slightly endearing habits Zowie Bowie has, no doubt the worst is this: she follows me when I clean.
Bob knows well enough to stay the hell out of my way when I perform my least favorite task. He has the fear of Dearest Most Wonderful Mother Supreme in his whirring feline heart, and he loves me too much to ever intentionally misbehave. He knows better than to be present when I grumble and curse as I scrub week-old macaroni and cheese out of the pot, and he is afraid not only of the vacuum cleaner but also, for reasons unknown, the broom. Sweet little Bob hides in the bedroom and nurses one of his teddy bears as I crawl around the living room with a lint brush, screaming the oft-given lecture entitled You Explain to Me, Young Beast, How One Twelve-Pound Cat Can, Within the Span of One Week, Produce More Fiber Goods than All the Yaks in Tibet and the Sheep in Scotland Combined?
Zoe, on the other hand, seems to find great amusement in the sight of the Human Roommate cleaning. She follows me from room to room and perches on a desk, an end table, a sink, watching curiously with this "little old me" look on her smarmy little cat face. I swear to god she's thinking, "Oh, did I do that? Oh, dear HR, surely it was you who pulled the seedlings out of their pots again, who knocked over a shelfful of picture frames, who eats out of the cat dish in a manner calculated to spread seven-tenths of the kibble across the kitchen floor. And darling, silly HR, it was certainly not me, with my delicate little stomach, who vomited orange kibble directly in front of your front door this morning so that you'd wobble and squeal, foot in the air, trying not to step in it as you attempted to keep your balance with two armsful of grocery bags and a purse and a messenger bag and a soda. Surely that was you."
On a lighter note, I think shelfful may well be the best word I've ever invented. It's certainly among the most fun to say.
Bob knows well enough to stay the hell out of my way when I perform my least favorite task. He has the fear of Dearest Most Wonderful Mother Supreme in his whirring feline heart, and he loves me too much to ever intentionally misbehave. He knows better than to be present when I grumble and curse as I scrub week-old macaroni and cheese out of the pot, and he is afraid not only of the vacuum cleaner but also, for reasons unknown, the broom. Sweet little Bob hides in the bedroom and nurses one of his teddy bears as I crawl around the living room with a lint brush, screaming the oft-given lecture entitled You Explain to Me, Young Beast, How One Twelve-Pound Cat Can, Within the Span of One Week, Produce More Fiber Goods than All the Yaks in Tibet and the Sheep in Scotland Combined?
Zoe, on the other hand, seems to find great amusement in the sight of the Human Roommate cleaning. She follows me from room to room and perches on a desk, an end table, a sink, watching curiously with this "little old me" look on her smarmy little cat face. I swear to god she's thinking, "Oh, did I do that? Oh, dear HR, surely it was you who pulled the seedlings out of their pots again, who knocked over a shelfful of picture frames, who eats out of the cat dish in a manner calculated to spread seven-tenths of the kibble across the kitchen floor. And darling, silly HR, it was certainly not me, with my delicate little stomach, who vomited orange kibble directly in front of your front door this morning so that you'd wobble and squeal, foot in the air, trying not to step in it as you attempted to keep your balance with two armsful of grocery bags and a purse and a messenger bag and a soda. Surely that was you."
On a lighter note, I think shelfful may well be the best word I've ever invented. It's certainly among the most fun to say.
posted by Allison at
10:56 AM
1 Comments:
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