Just Some Raccoon Paws

This is what happens when my brain is too tired to do “homework,” but it seems too early to go to bed. When I’m that tired everything is hilarious and sort of a good idea.

ABBF had freshly shaved his head and I said, “What if tiny, leathery little raccoon or opossum paws were rubbing it?” He does like a nice scalp massage.

Then Brain was like, “Can we make this weirder?!”

Always.

Gaslighting Catlighting

The heinous crew of criminals known as the GET. UP. COMMITTEE. has been experimenting with gaslighting me.

It’s early days of summer vacation, so they are busy pushing boundaries around feeding times. I am willing to stick with our school routine of them getting me up between 5:30 am and 6am. I stumble out to the kitchen, throw everyone a scoop, and then I’m allowed to go back to bed.

I am 99.9% sure that this was the routine I followed one morning last week. I am certain to a degree that I got up around 5 something to feed them. I have a vague memory of getting a drink out of the fridge.

However the COMMITTEE spent the next 3 hours bombarding me in waves as if I had never fed them. Miles and Homer would hit me and anything movable on the side table, followed by Olivia Wigglebothum’s squeaks and blanket plucking. Birdie would finish the cycle by bounding across the bed and springboarding off my available parts. Then they would start all over again. For 3 hours.

I know it was that long because I had an alarm set for yoga. They were so persistent that I am partially convinced that I “dreamed” getting up and actually did not. Even Sookie who does not participate in organized COMMITTEE activities, sat on the bedroom floor staring up at me the whole time.

Whether they were actually fed or not, five cats almost starved to death. TO. DEATH! ….allegedly.

Wish Me Luck

Heading out for a multi day adventure to “exotic” locales with the BF. I’ve traveled beyond day trips with a boyfriend. It will either work or we will epically meltdown and break up.

I lean towards it working. However our packing styles differ greatly.

How will he survive? Has he thought about the 2 panties a day rule? How many changes of clothes are in that gym bag?

Mouse Hunt

Oven based mouse hunt

Supervision, yardstick

Toy storage unit

First Day of “Summer”

I have plenty of computer work to do, but kids and classes are done for a bit. Huzzah!

My body decided I was awake at 6:45 am which is technically sleeping in. However the GET. UP. crew said I could doze another hour or so.

They took advantage of the sunspots once their human sized heating pad was upright and mobile.

I think they look like some pastoral classic painting here. One where buxom woman are inexplicably lounging nude or dancing in circles while everyone else is dressed and picnicking.

Birdie and I surveyed our queendom before breakfast, and discussed how time is a horrible construct we’ve borrowed so best to get crackin.’

He’s More of a Unicorn

Earlier today I posted an older collection of the cats “celebrating” May the 4th. I just did not have the energy to dig out costumes and wrangle felines. I’m old fashioned sick and snotty, not COVID sick. However Homer’s first mom thought that he was missing out. I utilized the energy I had reserved for heating up soup to initiate the boy into costumes.

It’s his first May the Fourth. Homer’s response was, “Oh, Hell no!”

Nope!

He’s more of a unicorn.

Just so he didn’t feel lonely, I added a dragon and Chewbacca to have snacks with.

“Penises are in the mail.”

It’s been awhile since I’ve had a classic MomBert text message post. Fortunately, I rediscovered this moment while searching for something else. Since I took a screenshot, it was clear that the wheels were turning at the time.

MomBert traditionally makes me groundhog and cat shaped gingerbread molasses cookies for my birthday, and brings them when the fam comes up to celebrate. Because she is a mommers, she retained a request that I had made months earlier and promptly forgotten about. My sister occasionally makes and sells baked goods for events. Possibly around Thanksgiving, she was telling story about making penis cut out cookies -4 sizes—for a bachelorette party. Apparently I raised my hand and enthusiastically stated that I wanted gingerbread dick cookies for my birthday along with the normal cat and groundhog shapes. MomBert was not thrilled, but she held on to the idea.

Approaching my Groundhogs Day birthday, MomBert had clearly been mulling the cookie situation over. The new BF she had never met was scheduled to stop by for gingerbread and dick cookies. She had concerns.

He also knows what ducks look like.

The BF is pretty relaxed and open with few concerns about eating a dick cookie because the primary take away was “I get a cookie, right?” We did establish that if I were to ever have restaurant employees sing to him for his birthday, he would leave me on the spot. Like walk or drive away, abandoning me. I hate that as well, so I get it.

All the concerns were for naught though as my BIL popped hot for COVID and it started a chain reaction with my mom and sister. No, I did not need them to come visit even though they were not positive YET. MomBert eventually had mild symptoms, but my sister got the full fun time experience.

Ultimately this lead to the best package “tracking message” ever.

We literally ate a box of dicks.

Fetch!

“Jingle ball, (bitch)!”

Homer is still a bebe so he’s not allowed to swear, but the “Throw this now !” attitude was implied.

I’m trying to enjoy my laundry/coffee/podcast ritual, but my throwing skills are needed until he’s tired.

Fortunately, I’m at an angle to send him running repeatedly down the hallway. However my throwing skills are not always great. I’ve punted a few and bounced some off the door frame.

Homer’s expresses his feelings about my bad throws by placing the toy just out of my reach; so that if I’m going to prove my love or guilty feelings, I must awkwardly stretch to continue the game.

Open Random Drawers

When you open a drawer while exploring a new antique store…

Customer experience: Very satisfied.

I’ve gone blind!

Hello. My name is Homer Tiresias the Blind Poet Prophet of Flatfoot Road and I have been struck blind because I am a chronic masturbator. My “paw-lms” are also hairy.

No soft blankies are safe at our house.

Grammie is mad because she bought this extremely soft, fuzzy, fleecy blanket for Olivia Wigglebothum to enjoy. Olivia is mad because she says her blankie smells like kitten dick.

Homer was neutered before Thanksgiving, but has been biting the “backs of the blankets’ necks” and giving them the business since he got comfy in his new home. I found a few articles that said it takes about 3 months after neutering until his teen kitten hormones calm down enough that maybe he’ll just do this quietly in his room with a sock and some lotion. Until then, we can’t have nice things and he does not care where he is or who he is near.

I want it known that I was on the couch first.