Bitter

Drinking iconoclastic-breath-mobilizer-of-doom. I didn’t think he had heard the difference between “I don’t want coffee” and “I don’t want you to buy me coffee.” But it looks like it, because here it is.

Was terrified this morning; waking from a dream of smoke and fire and fear. Woke later, still groggy, sluggish and slow. Bitter at having to go to work, at the cat for howling at me, at myself for being stupid, at having a dirty home and an icky litter box, about finding a flea on Rotten last night.

Rotten

my pretty little kitty--all black softness and wrinkled brow, intent yellow eyes, white claws. She is, undoubtably, the love of my life. Last night she mewed sweetly at me for five minutes and then proceeded to puke up cheese all over my book. She then blinked up at me and mewed some more, hopped off the futon and ran back to the kitchen to beg for more food. It's hard to be mad at a cat that adores me and wakes me up right before the alarm goes off to purr in my ear, so I cleaned up the book and petted the cat and gave her some more water.

New Outfit