I just went to get dressed and go see a friend (The Fondue Goddess)… and there is a cat in my pants.
I will say it again because it bears repeating….
It’s not Lilly… thank god… she’d be judging me… “You are going outside… again? WTF hoonam?!”
It’s not Zoe… this is a good thing because she’s so fat she’d rip them out.
It’s not Meep… That is sad… All I’d have to do is pat my leg and she’d come over and I could have my pants back.
Trance is the devil… She is evil… bad tempered… ho-bag, bitchy, snarly, clawed, razor edged, demon of a wild animal that lives in my kitchen. (Unless I am in the kitchen… Seriously, she can’t stand to be in the same room with me most of the time. If I am in the kitchen, she is not.) This evil… puss-ifer of a cat is in my pants.
I have no choice. I’m going to go pick up the Fondue Goddess without pants…