The Wet Kitty

It's only 10pm, but I am ready to curl up in my nice new bed (a pillowsoft ULTRA--say you're jealous). I was going to spend some time ranting about this jackass I work for who makes $75k, but doesn't know how to use Excel. And when I say doesn't know how to use Excel, I'm not talking about formulas or anything of that ilk. He does not know how to place his cursor in a cell and type a word. However, that story is just going to have to wait. Not just because I am sleepy, but because my dear Buffalo-head of Canadian Tenderloin Goodness, sent this to me today:



Now, isn't that the most precious cutest thing you have ever seen. Look how the cat almost seems to be talking straight at you while lapping that water falling off his head. Damn. When my cat was a kitten he used to shower with me. I am so not shitting you. He was this furry little sausage of awesomeness, and he'd hop right in the shower and play with the suds, chase them around, bite at them, get all wet and happy. I'd dry him off, then myself. It was so pleasant; like I knew what it really meant when people said they loved their babies (gross). Then one day, he pulled the shower curtain down on himself, and he hasn't chosen to see the inside of a tub since. This cat would even climb in to a pot of water on the stove if you'd let him. One day I was eating macaroni & cheese directly from the pot (why dirty a bowl?), and he climbed right in the pot and sat there on the orange Kraft mac & cheese. Hilarious. These days, he's a bit older, a lot lazier, and rather chirp at you than move too much. I understand. I feel the same way.