I was awoken at 5:30 this morning by my cat rubbing his face on me, which is his way of saying that it's time to be fed. Apparently he was hiding under my bed last night, and before I went to sleep, I didn't do a Buddy check. So this is how I was woken up:

BUDDY: Hey... *rub rub rub*
COLLEEN: *unconsciously pets cat*
BUDDY: H-hey. I, uh, I hope I'm not being a bother, but if you're awake...
COLLEEN: *continues to pet cat, still half-asleep*
BUDDY: *butts head against Girl's face and rubs* Hey, if you're awake, I'm kinda hungry. If you, uh, if you wouldn't mind feeding me...
COLLEEN: Waitasecond. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?
BUDDY: I hope now isn't a bad time for you.

No work for the rest of the week! And I am very much enjoying the fact that I get a 10% commission on anything I sell. An extra five bucks tacked onto my paycheck is a big deal when I'm getting paid minimum wage to touch old women all day.

The big day was today, and the cat got his two infected canines removed. He was less than pleased upon returning home. For the next week, it's antibiotics, painkillers, and mouth rinse. Have you tried sticking a syringe into the mouth of a cat who doesn't want his meds? Even when they're doped up, you have to break out the Russian Wrestlemania moves to pin them.

( Homecoming photo under the cut. )

GOODNIGHT, SWEET PRINCE'S TEETH, AND A FLIGHT OF ANGELS SING THEE TO THY REST.

To the individual who left a block of wood in the middle of the highway just behind the top of the hill, so I couldn't see it coming until it was too late:

Warning: Gross journal entry ahead!

So today in forensic anthropology, we learned about what happens to you if you die in a house with your pets. In a situation where both your cat and/or your dog is trapped in there with you, the cat will start eating your body first. Based on Buddy's tendency to start chewing on my hair if I'm a half hour late providing him with his nomnoms, I would give my own corpse roughly half a day before he decides to take matters into his own dainty little paws.

This just goes to show you: Cats are assholes. I will sleep with one eye open tonight.

And they start with your lips first, oh god

Will there be an art post soon? I think maybe!

BUDDY



WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO PUT PROWL IN SUNSTREAKER'S PACKAGING? DON'T YOU KNOW THAT THEY'RE NOT EVEN ALIKE? THIS IS THE SORT OF MISCONCEPTION THAT WILL RUIN TRANSFORMERS FOREVER. I DO NOT KNOW WHICH ONE WOULD BE MORE INSULTED BY THIS.

HE'S NOT EVEN A REPAINT.

A word about my cat.

Buddy (or Butty, as he is sometimes called due to his bootylicious posterior) is a drooler, who is apparently thrown so deep into bliss at having his ears scratched that you might as well have turned on a faucet. Buddy's breath, however, is perhaps a concentrated dose of the worst stink I have ever come into contact with, and I don't say this lightly. I worked as a shit-shoveler for horse stables, I have poked the bloated corpse of a drowned vole with a stick and popped it, and yes, I have eaten Taco Bell. This, however, takes the cake. The vile, repulsive cake with brownish green frosting.

Buddy, who was apparently just so pleased that he could sit on my bed as I worked, shook his head and sent several drool-grenades flying everywhere. ( Here is the aftermath. )

(He also hates Coldplay. I put on "Lovers in Japan" and he started mewling.)