Good god, The Mattress and P1 are going insane. FUCKING INSANE. Poor Mattress had been living with such old farts for so long, that he didn't have playmates to romp around with, since the geriatrics kept him to get off their couch and get a job, earn a living and grow up already. Of course Mattress just slammed the door to his bedroom and listened to shoe-gazer bands until he fell asleep. (Angsty punk was too aggressive for such a delicate gay flower as he.)
Now, his is the fucking happiest 6-year-old cat in town (okay, plus one or two on the age--I always forget). He fucking frolics. He is doing the least graceful leaps of any Siamese currently known to exist. His flubby bits going flying all which way, and the kittens just love it. I wouldn't be surprised if one day I look up to P1 and P2 riding his back like an elephant. While Mattress lumbers along growling and doing that snorting thing he does trying to intimidate them not to ride his back. Sure, he could just drop to the floor and roll over on them, but he never was the brightest of cats. Poor happy thing.
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It's Saturday and I am up at an unholy hour because of this creepy dream, that involved a brutal man released from prison on a technicality. For some reason I got a job with him that involved taking this crazy tram-train (blame last night's episode of X-files for the tram horror--combining heights and rickety cars on cables is not ever going to be my things). The job was really to be his live-in parole officer, and I had to make sure he traveled in this weird wire cage when in public. At his house he was free of it, and I had all five of my cats, and two more than we rescued off the street (I thought he was so sweet for that). Stuff happens. I get a bit sweaty in the bed from fear. At some point I brought in two friends to join on what ever was going on at the end of the tram-train, and on the second day, I was freaking out (details unknown at this time), and secretly got off at the next stop and was desperately looking for trash bags to throw all my clothes in, and could only find shopping bags and roach bait. Decided the clothes totally weren't worth it and grabbed all the cats (the two saved ones had morphed in to dogs), and my heart was just beating so hard that he got off at the next stop after I got off and was on his way back to catch me. I woke up in complete freak-out mode and had to make sure all the cats were still here. I guess no one wanted ET in the dream, but he's okay, too.
Really, I didn't mean to go on and on about that dream. It just started pouring forth as I was typing. I hope you skimmed some parts of it.
My main purpose in actually opening the blog this morning was to mention another dream where The Boy threw an unopened Coke can at me, hitting my head. I was so upset and mad at him; my feelings all hurt and doing the normal crybaby things I do (have I mentioned that I am a pouter?). That really doesn't sound like anything of note, nothing worth mentioning here, other than I have actually done the same thing to my sister! And I thought she was so dumb for being a tattle-tell and going on and on about how her head hurt where I dinged her, etc. So, to you, then 10-year-old sister, back there in our way distant past, I apologize. Ok? That was wrong of me to throw the Coke at your head. I should have aimed for your stomach instead.
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