Oh my god, I am so tired - I can't think, I can't type. My brain is like bruised fruit - mushy, dented, and brown spotted. Coffee isn't working it's usual magic either; it's just giving my little mental hamster the shakes as he runs on his squeaky, creaky wheel, shrieking, "Never give up! Never surrender!" (My hamster is a big "Galaxy Quest" fan, in case you didn't know)
So why, you may ask, are you beyond fatigued, O She Who Tapdances through life? (Do you really talk that way, O Reader, my Reader? It's kind of freaky, but I like it!)
Well, it's not because I threw open my house for an impromptu dinner party on Saturday, in honor of Cleo. I cleaned like a mad woman all day, cooked a fabulous huge meal, and then threw down like the aforementioned lunatic as well. No, no, that can't be the cause. There weren't any Party Fouls to stress over - my brothers both managed to not set anything on fire, and I completely missed Bea lying on the kitchen floor for a brief respite, so I was all zen, in a skunked kind of way.
It certainly has nothing to do with me staying up too late, every damn night, in spite of the school regimen being in full swing. I have a mission and that mission is to kick Scrabble Maven's advanced ass so far down she can't ever get back up.
No, no, I blame the cat. Jezebel. The cat who sits outside my bedroom door every night, meowing piteously every quarter hour, like a Regulator clock, only with cat noises. I try to coax her to come in and get settled, I'll give you the pillow honey; but she's got a bad case of Perpetual Wrong Side Of The Door Syndrome, so either she comes in and out all night, with me getting up to escort her, or she has to sit outside and cry. Jezebel is otherwise my favorite cat, but she's killing my deep REM sleep single-pawedly (single cattedly?), every quarter hour of my night.
Yeah, that's it - it's the cat! It's ALL her fault!
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In Case You Missed It-
To hear all about the dinner party and how Bea ended up on the kitchen floor, go read Trapped Under Something Heavy - right now!!!
12 comments:
I'm just amazed that you're writing at the computer at 8:00 AM?! I know you...
Uh huh, suuurre it's the cat. A cat named SCRABBLE! Poor Be'Belle, blamed for your vampire ways, it just ain't right.
It was definitely a party for the books. I'm just grateful no one found me on the kitchen floor, particularly one of the kids. "Mom, What's Bea doing on the floor?" I shudder to think.
I wanna party.
that damn cat. scat.
I have a cat named Heidi who until recently was one of two felines in our household. Several months ago, though, we got rid of the other cat, Mosby (who'd eluded my mother's attempts to capture him for weeks), because he'd been tipping over plants and stinking up the basement every time he used the litter box.
Although he tormented Heidi, chased her around the house constantly, and generally sparred with her on any available occasion, I believe that she enjoyed having him around and regarded him as a brother of sorts, and that he regarded her as a sister.
Every since Mosby's departure, Heidi has been mewing piteously and lingering about. I think she's lonely.
I've told my mother that we ought to get another cat, but I don't think she's going for it.
I wish I'da been at that party, dammit.
I had the best cat ever: Walter. He needed to sleep on my face.
So... keep the door open. Problem solved. ;)
Also, what's this thing you mention? Party? Does not compute. Alas.
Maybe a little kitty door? (I hate when people suggest the obvious - duh, I'm sure you never thought of that.) Sorry you,re tired. Dumb cat. It's Friday though - yay!
maybe you and kitty should share a cocktail right before bedtime. don't cats like vodka? they should.
Hope you had an uneventful weekend and were able to catch up on some much needed sleep!
And I blame a certain dog who has been wanting to go for a trot under the moon at three in the morning and a shared cough. When I'm not coughing my love awake he is coughing me awake. So romantic.
The party sounds fun oh dear tapdancer.
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