06.18.2004 - 1:37 p.m.

Darling, I love you, but when you left my bed for work at six-something, knowing I would want to remain unconscious until eight-something, what posessed you to let Feline Thing Two out of his room?

Because Thing Two still thinks he'll be getting to shag Thing One, while Thing One believes Thing Two would be more handsome with a shredded nose. This means that Thing Two spends all his time stalking Thing One until he can leap atop her, believing that she will, swooning, immediately Assume The Position. Well, Thing One has some positions for him, all right: How about "Claws and Pointy Teeth Facing Approaching Underbelly" or "Hissing Stance of Doom?"

They do get tired, eventually. By the time I come home from work, Thing One will be happily napping on her chair, while Thing Two sits near my fishtank in the other room, calmly licking the water off his front paw. But certainly for the first two hours he's free, the situation devolves into Thing One hiding behind the crook of my body, while Thing Two humps out his frustration on my leg.

So to recap, in the two hours between six-something and eight-something, there is Thing One growling. There are the obnoxious come-hither chirps from Thing Two. There are the zooming cat bodies that occasionally tear across my abdomen or neck or the dresser that until a few minutes ago, had a bunch of stuff on it. Finally, there is the half-Siamese sexpot going to town on my leg.

I love you so much, Darling. So much that if you avoid me for at least twelve more hours, you may even get to live.

-stonebridge

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