Why?

This is why I have to go to bed right now with the covers over my head and whimper and shiver until it's time to get up in the morning(ish):





Yeah, that motherfucker--and I make no apologies for using the term, because it's an evil, vile thing--just ran the hell across my floor. AND, Louis didn't care. He watched it go, and I can only imagine, thought, "Oh, interesting. That thing doesn't smell like bacon, so I gues I'll just go back to sleep." AND, Eli, who is a CAT, for God's sake, saw it, looked at me, and then JUMPED ON THE BED IN A LAME ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE THE MULTI-LEGGED MENACE.


I'm buying a snake tomorrow.

Trying to Love You, Louis

I'm trying to remember to love you, Lou.


That's all I can say right now. I'm trying to finish the biggest sweater (Celtic Icon) ever made -- a lesson in the value of swatching which I'm sure I'll forget once I get to work and open my package from Habu-- and Lou is trying to make me crazy. I hate that he's getting older (or, that he is old -- it's 17 years now) and it makes me sad that he can't move as quickly and that the stairs are a burden for him. The only reason I live where I do is because it's on the first floor, and there are only 4 steps in and out of the building. He is not grateful, however, and just now, walked in the bedroom, looked at me for a second, and then went and puked on my Danskos. Nice.