What happens when you don’t wear headphones and the menagerie can hear Mom’s voice over the speakers? I learned my lesson.
Oscar loves to chew on his tail. It’s one of his coping mechanisms. After Mom’s been gone for nearly two weeks, he just couldn’t take it any more:
Stanley is like all cats: he likes routine. His routine has been disrupted by Mom’s Adventure. When I come home from work, I often find him “seasoning” the cutting board to express his distaste.
Imagine a world where a man is watching Twitch. Imagine the man has snackies. Imagine a world where that man doesn’t share quick enough with the dog. This is Udo’s World.
One of a Cat’s most sacred duties is being radioactive and god-like. Kewpie takes his duties very seriously, so we often find him absorbing radiation, like this:
I sat down on the foot of the bed to get my shoes and socks on. Suddenly, I heard a very Bruce-Lee sounding squeal, followed by the unmistakable sound of a big paw forcefully thumping into something.
The Dog has been in mourning ever since Mom left, but he has finally begun to realize that living with Dad isn’t all that bad. I came home yesterday and fed the cats, only to be greeted by this thing with his rawhide bone in his mouth.
Oscar does everything at 150%. After Mom left, he leaned hard into Dad to get his daily affection. When he gets really going, all the fur on his body puffs out like he’s scared, but he’s just so worked up even his skin gets lovy.
One of the most egregious crimes about Mom being gone is that there’s no one home at 3:45. That means there’s no one to glare at to initiate the 4:00 can-opening ritual. By the time I get home at 5:15, everyone is PISSED.
There I was, minding my own business as I cooked up a batch of rice and broccoli. Suddenly, the most godawful squealing and squalling erupted from the love seat.