revenge is a dish best served vacuumed

Here’s a little text-message exchange between Ashley and I last night:

When I say that the cats stared at me while I ate, that is precisely what I mean. The  two younger cats sat on the table, one to my left the other to my right, and just watched as I ate my delicious dinner. Cat owners are sort of used to this, but usually the cats are watching your food. Yesterday they were just watching me.

And I don’t know if you know this or not, but cats can go a really long time without blinking, as though every cat has a little internal Hannibal Lecter she’s very in touch with. This made my rather simple dinner last night one of the creepiest experiences this side of Transylvania.

This whole week the cats and I have been at odds. We’re not fighting, exactly, but it’s like everyone is extra on-edge. They’ve set up their #OccupyHerSide camp and I haven’t peppered-sprayed them out of it even once. Yet we’re both annoyed that they’re there. You can just tell. Like when I sit on the commode for my morning poo and have three cats sitting within four feet of me and they don’t seem to want anything other than to sit and stare as though my continued existence is in question.

Luckily, we only have to survive through the weekend. I’m pretty sure we’ll make it, though. Probably with lots of awkward staring.

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