Life With Cats, Wee Hours Edition

[truepenny]

BIPED: [waking up at oh-dark-thirty] My back hurts, I can't move, there's no room to breathe, WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS . . . oh, it's you.
CATZILLA: Dude, I'm, like, totally sleeping here. D'you mind?
BIPED: You're a nine pound cat, for Christ's sake. You cannot take up three-quarters of the bed.
CATZILLA: I'm not listeninnnnnnnnnnng.
BIPED: [contorts like Houdini]
[manages to roll over without kicking spouse off the bed]
[shoves Catzilla back maybe half an inch]
BIPED: All in all, this is not an appreciable improvement.
CATZILLA: [commences to purr]
BIPED: I hate you.

***

At least I know who to blame today's sciatica on.

Comments

[rabidfangurl.livejournal.com]

You know, there are some problems I seriously think topologists should investigate, both as mathematical quandaries and as practical matters. The Problem of the Bed-hogging Cat is one. The Problem of Fitting as Many Plates and Cups as Possible on a Dining Hall Tray is another.