Be strong, Crookshanks. Only 39 days to go.
And me? Let's see ... I refuse to give up spanking. Or blogging. Maybe pizza, though.
Or parsnips. Yeah, that's it. There are two left in the fridge, but I'll let Ron eat those.
Tradition has it that at midnight on Christmas Eve, animals are given the gift of speech. This LOLcat will have a few choice words to say, I'm sure.
Crookshanks, Fang, Fluffy, Ron and I all wish you all a very Merry Christmas.
And if you're in the mood for a perfectly charming Christmas story, visit A Voice in the Corner.
Apologies to any plumbers who may be reading this.
Warning - If you aren't a cat lover, or at least a cat tolerator, or if you are squeamish about kitty digestive habits, please stop reading right now.
For the those of you who are still reading, here's a paradox. After a spanking I usually feel relaxed and contented. But I also seem to have a lot of energy and need to busy myself with various household tasks. Perhaps the explanation for the energy lies in the fact that I usually don't feel much like sitting down for an hour at least.
On this particular occasion I decided to check the state of Crookshanks' litter box. The box is situated in an out of the way spot, where the ceiling is very low and the only light is a single bulb hanging overhead. Beside it is an ottoman, both for Crookshanks' comfort and my own. I made my way to the box in semi-darkness, and as I sat down on the ottoman I reached up and turned on the light.
The vinyl surface felt delightfully cool on my hot bottom. Cold, in fact. Cold and....wet??? Ewwww!
I jumped up and saw that the remains of a very large kitty breakfast had been regurgitated onto the ottoman. Most of it was stuck to the seat of my sweatpants. I gingerly wiggled out of the pants, trying to confine any fallout to the ottoman's surface. The laundry sink was close by, and I deposited the pants in it, then set about cleaning up the mess with paper towels.
I scampered upstairs, removed my wet underwear, gently washed my still tender posterior, and dressed in clean clothes. Crookshanks wandered by, looked at me and chirruped. Hungry, no doubt.
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