Why hello again!
I'm so sorry that I am apparently the sole source of entertainment for so many of you loyal readers out there. . . So here you go - 5 minutes of blog reading glory to you. . .
New category!
Mentally Challenged Pets:
Today we are going to talk about cats. My cats. Specifically, how they have the tendency to do amazingly stupid things.
Most people who have met my cats will immediately assume that I am talking about my seriously impaired cat, Milhaud. But, no. Actually, this particular post belongs to Hildegard - the "smart one".
Yesterday, I purchased some lightbulbs for my studio. I left them in the bag in the studio for later installation as went about other business. A little later, I walked downstairs and Milhaud politely informed me that they were STARVING TO DEATH because they had only had a little food left in the dish. So I went to fill it up - which usually causes both cats to come running.
Milhaud runs in - and then I hear this deafening roar coming towards me. Panicked, I look around for the source when suddenly, Hildegard comes running into the room like a bat out of hell. Her eyes are like dinnerplates and every hair on her body is stuck straight in the air. Oh yes, AND she is stuck in the handle of my plastic bag full of lightbulbs. She thinks it is chasing her and thus proceeds to try to lose it by diving in and around other objects. Naturally, this just causes her to get "clotheslined" as the bag would get stuck. Naturally, this just made her run even harder. And NATURALLY the bag doesn't rip, but I hear this crash/tinkle sort of sound and magically the bag fits under the chair, under the book shelf, under the bed. After tearing around the room for what must have been at least two minutes, she finally dives back under the bed where she cowers, exhausted.
As the good cat-mom I am, I felt like I should probably get her uncaught from the bag and make sure she hadn't broken anything. So, I pulled the bed back and picked her up and untangled her from the plastic bag of a thousand horrors. Which is when I realized that she had actually been so scared that she had lost control of her bodily fluids. Perfect.
I open the bag. Sure enough, every last lightbulb is smashed into a thousand pieces.
I'm so sorry that I am apparently the sole source of entertainment for so many of you loyal readers out there. . . So here you go - 5 minutes of blog reading glory to you. . .
New category!
Mentally Challenged Pets:
Today we are going to talk about cats. My cats. Specifically, how they have the tendency to do amazingly stupid things.
Most people who have met my cats will immediately assume that I am talking about my seriously impaired cat, Milhaud. But, no. Actually, this particular post belongs to Hildegard - the "smart one".
Yesterday, I purchased some lightbulbs for my studio. I left them in the bag in the studio for later installation as went about other business. A little later, I walked downstairs and Milhaud politely informed me that they were STARVING TO DEATH because they had only had a little food left in the dish. So I went to fill it up - which usually causes both cats to come running.
Milhaud runs in - and then I hear this deafening roar coming towards me. Panicked, I look around for the source when suddenly, Hildegard comes running into the room like a bat out of hell. Her eyes are like dinnerplates and every hair on her body is stuck straight in the air. Oh yes, AND she is stuck in the handle of my plastic bag full of lightbulbs. She thinks it is chasing her and thus proceeds to try to lose it by diving in and around other objects. Naturally, this just causes her to get "clotheslined" as the bag would get stuck. Naturally, this just made her run even harder. And NATURALLY the bag doesn't rip, but I hear this crash/tinkle sort of sound and magically the bag fits under the chair, under the book shelf, under the bed. After tearing around the room for what must have been at least two minutes, she finally dives back under the bed where she cowers, exhausted.
As the good cat-mom I am, I felt like I should probably get her uncaught from the bag and make sure she hadn't broken anything. So, I pulled the bed back and picked her up and untangled her from the plastic bag of a thousand horrors. Which is when I realized that she had actually been so scared that she had lost control of her bodily fluids. Perfect.
I open the bag. Sure enough, every last lightbulb is smashed into a thousand pieces.
Hildegard didn't come out from behind the bed for three hours. And when she finally did, she spent the first 15 minutes or so checking behind every nook and cranny for the cat-eating bag; and even then, for the next couple of hours every bumb or scrape would send her flying back under the bed.
Maybe it makes me a terrible person that I found this terribly amusing . . .
