My life: so difficult.
I have just come home from watching Jack Reacher. Its basic premise seems to be that Tom Cruise should do another series of movies where he gets to be stoically bad-ass and hit people, all in the name of being the good guy. This series will be less tech-y than Mission: Impossible, and will not be an ensemble cast of heroes, but a loner hero out Doing Good and Preserving the American Way with bullets, fast cars, and fists.
In other news, Cruise is looking less ragged in this film than he has in the preceding few.
Moving on.
I have been arguing with Arlo for the past thirty minutes. Yes, Arlo the cat. He wants to sit on my left shoulder while I am on the computer. I do not want this, because he doesn't know how to put his claws away, and when he perches, he purrs and kneads, leaving me with dozens of puncture wounds on the back of my left shoulder and up the side of my neck.
Me: *blocking his approach on the arm of my chair* No, buddy. Go on.
Arlo: Marrm. *headbutt my arm*
Me: You're very handsome, yes. Now please bugger off.
Arlo: Muurrrrgah.
Me: Because you put holes in me, dude. No.
Arlo: *push against my arm with his head, get his chin up on my shoulder* Mao?
Me: No. Bugger off! *put cat on the sofa*
Arlo: *jump over me to the back of the chair, come around to other side, step onto keyboard tray* Mramaram.
Me: *laughing* You fucking doofus. Go eat something. *put cat on the floor*
Interlude: Arlo wanders off to, presumably, eat something and possibly discuss politics with the bedroom door. It wouldn't be the first time.
Arlo: *bound up onto the keyboard tray, leap past my arms to land squarely on my left boob; stick head under my chin for a kiss* Purrip?
Me: Ow. Damn it, cat, I said no. *give kiss; put cat on floor*
Arlo: *hop up to left arm of chair, put paw on my collarbone, give inquiring look* Mrrrzaur?
Me: Will you please fuck off for fifteen minutes? Just fifteen minutes where I don't have a cat giving me pinholes and a crick in my neck? *put cat back on floor*
Arlo: *faster than ever before in his life - bound up to back of chair, over my right shoulder, and around to my left shoulder; settle in like he's been there for an hour*
Me: Seriously?
Arlo: *purr like a rusty lawnmower, squeaks and all* Mrah. *smug*
Me: What the fuck, cat?
Finn: *bound from sofa to keyboard tray to my right boob; fall over like a fainting damsel* Brrrrt.
Me: *give up; give kisses to both cats* Fine. At least you two are better than a scarf.
In other news, Cruise is looking less ragged in this film than he has in the preceding few.
Moving on.
I have been arguing with Arlo for the past thirty minutes. Yes, Arlo the cat. He wants to sit on my left shoulder while I am on the computer. I do not want this, because he doesn't know how to put his claws away, and when he perches, he purrs and kneads, leaving me with dozens of puncture wounds on the back of my left shoulder and up the side of my neck.
Me: *blocking his approach on the arm of my chair* No, buddy. Go on.
Arlo: Marrm. *headbutt my arm*
Me: You're very handsome, yes. Now please bugger off.
Arlo: Muurrrrgah.
Me: Because you put holes in me, dude. No.
Arlo: *push against my arm with his head, get his chin up on my shoulder* Mao?
Me: No. Bugger off! *put cat on the sofa*
Arlo: *jump over me to the back of the chair, come around to other side, step onto keyboard tray* Mramaram.
Me: *laughing* You fucking doofus. Go eat something. *put cat on the floor*
Interlude: Arlo wanders off to, presumably, eat something and possibly discuss politics with the bedroom door. It wouldn't be the first time.
Arlo: *bound up onto the keyboard tray, leap past my arms to land squarely on my left boob; stick head under my chin for a kiss* Purrip?
Me: Ow. Damn it, cat, I said no. *give kiss; put cat on floor*
Arlo: *hop up to left arm of chair, put paw on my collarbone, give inquiring look* Mrrrzaur?
Me: Will you please fuck off for fifteen minutes? Just fifteen minutes where I don't have a cat giving me pinholes and a crick in my neck? *put cat back on floor*
Arlo: *faster than ever before in his life - bound up to back of chair, over my right shoulder, and around to my left shoulder; settle in like he's been there for an hour*
Me: Seriously?
Arlo: *purr like a rusty lawnmower, squeaks and all* Mrah. *smug*
Me: What the fuck, cat?
Finn: *bound from sofa to keyboard tray to my right boob; fall over like a fainting damsel* Brrrrt.
Me: *give up; give kisses to both cats* Fine. At least you two are better than a scarf.