If Looks Could Kill

This is the look I get from the ne’er-do-well when it’s time to close the blinds and she’s not quite ready to be done spying on the courtyard. I’m not dead, thank goodness… but certainly not from lack of trying on Holly’s part.

I’m not sure I want to know what exactly she’s contemplating …

Mother’s Day, a Birthday … and a Cat

It’s Mother’s Day and my son’s birthday today. Since I’ve already told my mother how I feel about her (don’t roll your eyes, it was nice … thoughtful even) and revealing how old my son is makes me old, I’m just going to talk about my cat. I mean, look at this cat. Normally Shaylee is the Queen of Refinement, the epitome of poise and grace. And here she is, right when the realization struck that she had rolled herself just an inch too close to the edge of the bed necessitating a very unladylike maneuver to keep her from meeting the floor a tad harder than she would’ve liked. Laughing at moments like these are just one more reason I’m going to meet a fiery end.

 

My Cat is a Jerk

So, my cat Shaylee eats crickets. I know. Yuck. The thing is, she won’t eat the legs. Again. I know. Double-yuck. My unfortunate part in all of this bloody chaos is to clean up the mess left behind by my fur-covered psychopath lovely pet. It is not a job that I relish, in any way, shape, or form. If I find a cricket, I will gently catch it, and put it outside — after a stern lecture on its ill-advised decision to enter my patrolled abode … with the hopes it will scurry off, never to return to these murder-filled halls. But all too often, Shaylee is more observant, and certainly faster, than I could ever be. Which leads to cricket legs being scattered about the house for me to find. Let me be clear. Just. The. Legs.

I hate my life.

“you call them crickets, I call them impromptu snacks”