...in which Jeannie's making my life miserable, so, you know, alert the media.
Jeannie’s been unusually good lately. She hasn’t been the evil hate-beast psycho-kitty I’ve come to know and love (reluctantly) over the past three years. No assaults, no unexplained hurricanes of fury, no face-biting in my sleep. I walk unafraid through my apartment with the lights off and no shoes on, and my feet have no new scars on them.
She even has a friend now, this freakish ball of malice who has every cat in 4 ½ Alley terrified. She has a flunkie. There’s a new little black cat in the alley, and he waits outside for her each night. I let her out, the two of them sniff and mrrrow at each other placidly for a moment, and then they go off terrorizing the neighborhood together.
I might have realized that she was setting me up for something especially cruel, but I’m an optimist, you see. So it was a complete surprise to me when she vomited all over my hat.
I tried to clean it in the bathroom sink, but no, she got it really good. I won’t be able to wear it again ‘til I can get to the laundry on Saturday. And I have only one warm hat. I have ballcaps, but they don’t do much to keep your ears warm in February, a fact amptly proved over the past two days, during which I froze even though the weather isn't especially cold.
Anyone got some earmuffs I can borrow ‘til Saturday?
