Yesterday, we invited Lou’s parents over to see the cat. They came bearing gifts, which will undoubtedly show up later on this blog, either due to the great pleasure they give the cat or the great annoyance they give her owners. (One toy quacks like a duck. That’s all I’m going to say.)
So, prior to their arrival, we did what all 20-somethings grudgingly due when older adults pay a social call. We cleaned. Poor little Wintermuse was introduced to many things, good and bad, this morning.
1. The Dirt Devil. I think she thinks it really is the devil.
2. The curtains. We opened the windows, and our sheers blew around, alternatingly frightening and delighting her.
3. The swiffer. She was intrigued by how it seemed to be reconstructing her tinsel toys.
4. Me stepping on her. This is an unfortunate consequence of her ongoing campaign to trip me and send me to my death.
After our cleaning, Lou got us each a hot dog from 7-11 for a late lunch. I had just given our kitty a Whiskas treat due to her frazzled state, but when the hot dogs came out, she got sausage-shaped stars in her eyes.
Win: “What’s.. what a hot dog, precious?”
Lou: “Meat byproducts. You can’t have it.”
Win: “But I want it.. I want it sooo bad. You never let me have ANYTHING except petting, toys, high-quality kitten food, soft beds, body heat, and my own laptop!”
Win: “I’ll have you yet, my pretty. Just wait.”