The myth of the cat lady

It's been two evenings in a row that I've had to rush to after-work writing functions. Yesterday I spoke at two community college classes and today I helped organize a small writers workshop. Needless to say, after having to get excited enough to get other people excited TWO EVENINGS IN A ROW, I do not plan on being pleasant or excited tomorrow.

But the upshot is that this evening, since Dave is off work tomorrow for some vague reason I can't exactly remember, he went to a show with a couple of friends tonight, meaning that the house was splendidly silent when I got home. I unloaded my car and took the dogs out to take a crap in a neighbor's yard, and then came inside to settle in for the night in my nice, quiet house, with the TV turned off.

So, naturally, I wanted to relax, or do whatever the fuck I wanted, because hey, I'm all like McCauley Culkin, I'm home alone. Or at least that's what I thought. No sireee, the cats were screaming like their fat asses were going to die from starvation at. any. moment. I cracked open a few cans of animal slurry (Purina calls it dog/cat food) and fed everybody. I thought my duties as the dutiful pet owner were done.

I was wrong.

After I sat my fat ass on the couch and pulled up my laptop and Diet Coke (with Splenda, mind you) and got serious about catching up on tonight's Democratic debate in Austin, Hornsby started nudging and licking my pants leg. Apparently dogs need affection, too. I got a little annoyed, and I told him to go lay down. He did, but then Fitzgerald climbs his cute little butt up into my face and starts licking me. God. I couldn't resist the cuteness. So, Hornsby comes back over and starts harassing me again, and all the sudden I'm flanked by both dogs, nuzzling me on the couch.

But the animals weren't done yet.

Then, Mr. Orange makes his way over to the couch and I'll be damned if he didn't decide that my keyboard was the perfect spot for his fuzzy bum. I almost relegated my evening to herding the animals, and then I thought, "There is no way that the whole spinster-and-45-cats myth is true. I can't even manage one evening alone with two dogs and two cats."

Seriously, these guys may be cute, but they are needy little buggers.







(Couldn't help but take advantage of the opportunity to showcase the lovely furs of the House of England)