Because Heather is weak and has inferior genes and stamina, she went to bed before I did this evening. She also forgot to write a KPotD. In light of her failure, I am here to set the universe to balance.
It was a busy day in Southwestern Oklahoma, with floods and tornadoes and all manner of severe alerts going off left and right. All is well here, and hopefully nothing major has gone awry for others in the state. The morning sun will tell that tale in due time. The felines were not amused by the crashing of the sky and the shrieking of our phones and weather radio.
Imagine my disgust when she began sending me pictures of HER abominable, infernal felines, lounging about like French whores in MY spot on the love seat. “It makes them feel better,” she said, as though marinating in a year of well-fermented cheese farts could possibly be construed as a good thing.
Nonetheless, they did seem to be comfortable:
After a bit, even Stanley himself couldn’t bear the sulfur residue and had to leave. Oscar, who seems to smell as effectively as a dead hippo (and who himself often smells like one as well; never before has there been such a revolting, terroristic dung dumping kitten as this one) didn’t seem to mind and merely spread his growing bulk out to take up nearly the whole seat.
Perhaps they were on to something. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go do some reading in a closet for a while, right after I down this bottle of bleu cheese dressing.