It’s fucking Saturday, y’all. The day is starting off gray, and maybe it will clear up.1 Podrick came in for an early morning cuddle, as usual. For the most part, I cup my hand over his face like a muzzle while he sucks on my thumb or palm, and maybe I’ll fall asleep. He’s aggressive about getting proper orange baby cuddles. Thankfully, I don’t sleep nearly as deeply as I used to; I know he’d be snuggled and snuffling under my neck and I’d wake up with kitty hickies.
Yesterday was another day and another terrible mood. Nothing I did would distract Podrick from his hyperfixations: Pippin and power cords. He was pure asshole incarnate from the moment I got out of bed. He chased poor Pip everywhere. If he wasn’t up her ass, he was trying to play with everything on the counter top and stove, or trying to destroy my charging cables. To make matters worse, my allergies were on fire. I wanted nothing more than to sit with a box of tissues next to me so I didn’t need to get up every 3 minutes to blow my nose, but he would attack the tissue. I did nothing but scream PODRICK STOP all fucking morning, because literally nothing else would redirect him.
Shawshank has the weekend off. Today is the town yard sale, so we’re going to seek out some treasures. Shawshank says someone a couple of houses down died, and thinks they might have some interesting junk.
- Whoops, just checked the weather and it’s gonna be ass all day. ↩︎
