When you live with cats, you can’t look away from your food. Ever. Or sleep.
Me: Hmmmm, brie, yummy.
Greebo: What you have?
Boo: Ah, brie, that smells like Somerset. Don’t you normally have French?
Me: Well, yeah, I do. But I felt like having Somerset.
Greebo: I have?
Me: No, you no have. I have.
Boo: In my experience of you, you don’t just decide something, especially when it comes to brie. Why did you have Somerset instead?
Me: Alright, there was someone taking forever in front of the French brie and I was in a hurry, so I had to hurry, but I didn’t want to talk to her.
Boo: So what you’re saying is that your anxiety now prevents you buying cheese?
Me:….Social anxiety is not easy to pigeonhole.
Greebo: (while I look away for a second) *sticks her nose in the middle of my block of brie*
Boo and Greebo: Well, you might as well give that to us now. Thank you very much.
I can’t believe I’ve just been mugged by cats.
Greebo: *quiet whisper* lady sleeping, now good play time. Play bounce up.
Me: Unsuspecting snore.
Greebo: *launches herself full pelt from the top of the wardrobe onto my chest* WHEEEEEEEE
I love my cats. I love my cats. I love my cats.
Boo isn’t much better by the way. I will be sleeping and she decides she wants a fuss. So I’ll wake up with Boo sticking her paw up my nose, or batting my eye, or pulling at my earrings or just plain old sticking her whickers in my ear.
Boo: Wakey wakey human, I need attention.
Boo: Now, stroke me. *bats at my eye until I stroke her*
Me: *sleepily strokes Boo until she purrs* night night Boo.
Boo: Yes slave, do as I tell you.