This hairball was a gift to me from the king of the cats.
I can't just have one cup of water by the bed. No, I have to have two. One for me and one for Tazendra, who habitually drinks from my water cups. She will only drink filtered water from the fridge dispenser or toilet water. Apparently they are equal in her mind.
I do not understand this. I do not consider them equal, which is sort of unfortunate because if I were content to drink from the toilet, I would probably step on a lot fewer hairballs.
(The cats don't barf all that much individually. It's just that there are three of them, and they do 9/10 of their barfing on the 1/10 of our floor space that is the path through my hallway and across the living room into the kitchen.)
So I have two cups by my bed at all times. Should I need a drink in the middle of the night Tazendra is not afterwards stuck trying to get water out of a mostly-empty cup, which she might spill, or stomping on my tits until I relent and stagger blindly to the kitchen which, at night, is like playing Minesweeper: Bezoar Edition.
Friends have witnessed her perching on my shoulder and riding me to the fridge to watch me fill up a new cup for her to drink from.
Yeah, I spoil her. What the hell else do friends do for each other?
When Tazendra dies, I believe I will honor her passing by always asking for two glasses of water everywhere I go, and proposing a toast. One for the devil and one for the cat.
Then I will cough up a hairball.
I do not understand this. I do not consider them equal, which is sort of unfortunate because if I were content to drink from the toilet, I would probably step on a lot fewer hairballs.
(The cats don't barf all that much individually. It's just that there are three of them, and they do 9/10 of their barfing on the 1/10 of our floor space that is the path through my hallway and across the living room into the kitchen.)
So I have two cups by my bed at all times. Should I need a drink in the middle of the night Tazendra is not afterwards stuck trying to get water out of a mostly-empty cup, which she might spill, or stomping on my tits until I relent and stagger blindly to the kitchen which, at night, is like playing Minesweeper: Bezoar Edition.
Friends have witnessed her perching on my shoulder and riding me to the fridge to watch me fill up a new cup for her to drink from.
Yeah, I spoil her. What the hell else do friends do for each other?
When Tazendra dies, I believe I will honor her passing by always asking for two glasses of water everywhere I go, and proposing a toast. One for the devil and one for the cat.
Then I will cough up a hairball.