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There is a cat in my pants

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….

There.
Is.
A.
Cat.
In.
My.
Pants.

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.

It’s Trance.

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…

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