And This Is Why I'm Cranky

Originally posted May 15/2007 on "Allison Wonderland"



Last night, the unthinkable happened.

We ran out of cat food.

Not only did we run out of catfood; we did so on a night when AJ was at work on a late shift doing inventory, meaning he wouldn't be home with the car until 2:30 in the morning. There was n way I was getting out to the grocery store, and so far, Marie's Mini Mart isn't delivering. Bastards.

The Pusses were nice about it... at first. A little mewing, a little twisting around my ankles whenever I entered the kitchen, where they were patiently waiting for my god-like hand to pour down manna into their little blue dishes. OK, Charlie twisted around my ankles; Gus tried to do the same but ended up tripping me when he tried to squeeze his chubby gut between my calves. He claims it's all fluff, but it just ain't so, folks.

As the evening wore on, the natives grew increasingly restless. The Kid is in bed (they informed me with twitching tails and glaring eyes), so why isn't the effing dish on the floor?
I stopped going into the kitchen when the charging yowl-monsters threatened to knock me over. It was quite obvious that they thought I had gone either mad or senile; had I forgotten that they needed food, was I suddenly completely unable to understand them, or was this some cruel torture? I tried to explain the situation, and told them several times that The Man would be bringing food home with him, but they didn't get it. Sometimes I wonder if I expect too much from them.

I finally went to bed, fearing for my life. I had visions of AJ returning home, kibble in hand, to find my mutilated corpse on the bed, the cat having skeletonized me like the fuzzy pirhanas they were starting to act like. They didn't kill me. They did, however, take turns jumping up on the bed and yelling in my face to remind me that they were, in fact, still hungry. Oh, and they tried to eat each other. At least, I think they did- there was a lot of yowling and flying fur after midnight.

Then AJ came home with the food and got a Where the hell have you been, mister? look from he cats. Then I'm assuming they sniffed at the dish, took a couple of bites, and sashayed off with their tails in the air, saluting the food with their puckered little arseholes. 'Cause cats are cruel like that.*