At 4 am this morning. Otis shattered the full length mirror. I was pretty sure there was a nuclear bomb and so I waited for the sweetness of radioactive death to wash over me. When I realized that nuclear fallout probably doesn't sound like a 16 lb cat racing around the apartment, I got up to see what he had broken. I wish I could say that I didn't kick him and while not kicking him did not get any glass embedded in my foot, but, well...
He also knocked my roughly 25 lb jewelry box on the floor. All of my most precious treasures of a jewel quality were scattered all over the fucking floor. He broke the box. And ladies you know how difficult it is to find a decent jewelry box. This was the consummation of a roughly 3 year search.
In addition he puked all over the laundry bag. You may ask, was there easy cleaning hard wood floor everywhere but where the laundry bag was? The answer is yes.
Oh and Roofie pissed in Motu's bed again. For approximately the 23rd time.
This is all in the last 15 hours. These cats are the devil's minions.
Our apartment is SMALL. I am worried about the stupid fucking cats and a baby. I know we are going to have to get one of these.I am totally going to be one of those people, "we are having a baby and now we are getting rid of the cats." Those are the people I deplore. Yet like most things, I am becoming what I used to deplore.
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