Husband’s godawful cat has declared war on my sleeping hours, and I’m pretty sure the things she’s doing would shock even the most depraved dictator.
Warning: Rant Ahead.
But don’t worry; it has a happy ending.
For me, the bloom is already off the rose on this (abso-fucking-lutely haunted) house.
Now that the hot water and air conditioning issues are solved we have: doors that don’t open, doors that don’t close, windows that don’t open, outlets that don’t work, and goddamned bugs showing up.
I’ve woken up every morning to dead spiders in the middle of the hall and random rooms. And the crickets! They’re just… wandering around the middle of the house. Crickets, for those unfamiliar with the species, are not known for their desire to be indoors. And since we are not open the windows and get some fresh air people there’s no rational explanation for their sudden appearance in my dining room.
And we’ll address all of that in a later post, because the guy is coming this week. First, I need to tell you about the most bizarre thing about this house.
For some time now, Husband has been lobbying for a spinoff blog.
The Stupid Cat is still not accepting Ham.
I thought we’d made progress when, one day, she voluntarily snuggled with him on the Favorite Ottoman. I even grabbed the camera and snapped a couple dozen photos of The Moment They Became Friends. Alas, only a few days later she was in his bed under my desk (oh yeah, he has a bed under my desk because close to me is his favorite place to be) and growling at him for coming by.
Because this is the internet, I’m never going to stop showing you pictures of my pets. Especially Alexander Hamilton because my heart is still healing and he’s just the fuzziest bandage ever. But there’s one adorable thing he does that I haven’t managed to capture and probably never will: because when he does it, my hands are busy.