The other 2%

Exactly one week ago I put out a plea on facebook about my precious kitty child who had run off to explore and had yet to return home. I drove the neighborhood, calling for her out the window like the crazy cat lady I have become to no avail. There is a good chance I checked the front and backdoor no less than 265 million times thinking she might, just might, have come back during that walk from the couch to the backdoor and then to the front door. Nope.

Wouldn't you know the next morning when I pulled my tired arse out of bed and let Murphy out - little miss street hussy decided to show her face. Truth be told I was 98% relieved to have her back and know she was okay. That other 2%.... well that is what I need to talk about.

You see, over the fourth of July I was in and out for a few days. Gone Friday and Saturday back Sunday (for all of 15 min) and then out again until Tuesday. My coming and going did nothing but "piss" miss thang off... literally.

She decided to hit me in the jugular. Take me to the cleaners. Give it her best shot. You get the point.

And her best shot... well it hurt...

Two pairs of tennis shoes - peed in

My PRECIOUS cast iron skillet that was sitting out stove top - peed in

Dishtowel draped nicely over the sink - peed on

Veggie bowl full of nuts/seeds/veggies/non refrigerated foods - PEED IN

I'm not quite sure I remember the last time someone was that mad at me. Maybe 9th grade when Alicia had to wake up early - on a Saturday morning post sleep over - to go to tennis practice and couldn't get back into her own house afterwards. Thus leading her to throw rocks at the bedroom window, which woke me up enough for me to get out of bed and see her standing in the driveway and turn around and go back to bed. She ended up sleeping in the back of her car until someone woke up (2 hours later) and let her in.

Even this episode of excessive urination tops that. Maggie girl was mad. So when the thought of her not coming home crossed my mind my heart ALMOST broke in half. I would be a liar if I didn't confess there was a tiny part of me that relished in the idea of being able to leave bath towels out and folded without the possibility of retaliation.

Since her stint on the street, my sweet precious kitty cat has gotten mad that I wouldn't let her back out to go whoop it up with her friends and has taken it out on a poor packing envelope sitting on dining room table. Soaked to the bone. Looks like that's a $1.37 down the drain.

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