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.
Someone who shall remain nameless – *cough cough* the ne’er-do-well *cough cough* – really sucks at hide-n-seek. But she excels at being cute. So who is the real winner here?
I have to give the Ne’er-do-well credit, she is gorgeous. Especially her eyes. Maybe she’s born with it … maybe it’s Meowbelline.
Okay, so that one was bad, even for me.
The sneeze heard round the world. One can’t be bothered to even look up from her nap. And the other takes it as a personal affront. Sheesh.
Someone is making damn sure she’s not left behind in our big move this weekend.
So, I got up in the middle of the night – or early morning, however you want to look at it, and went into the kitchen for a drink and a snack. Trying to keep from waking the entire household, which can result in a cacophony of barks from less than astute guard dogs, I kept the lights out and just meandered through to the fridge. I think
my cat the ne’er-do-well is trying to kill me. Poised like a demon in the dark, she just sat quietly and no doubt had a good laugh when, after finally seeing her and those glowing eyes staring at me like some otherworldly creature, I dropped my glass of milk … which subsequently shattered on the floor with a resounding crash and splattered pretty much the entire kitchen. Who was it that said “no use crying over spilled milk?” I’d like to wring that person’s neck, because cleaning up spilled milk at 2:30 a.m. to a canine concerto all because of a demon cat with a wicked sense of humor is definitely a curse-word laden undertaking, if not exactly tear-filled.
Catnip? No, I haven’t been doing catnip. I haven’t even seen any catnip. You’ve got the wrong cat, lady.