July 20th, 2003



As of this evening, we are back to only being responsible for two cats. Which means Dopey, Cracker, and Koosh all are safely in their homes and probably are being renamed to something decent, as I write this. Well, I hope they're being renamed. Koosh's owner is thinking of keeping the name. *cringe*

Dopey went with my friend today. He hasn't owned a cat for almost a year, since his last one died. He finally understands that it's not doing his former cat a dishonor by owning another cat.

I think of all of them, I miss Dopey the most. He was always the one who got to me first, purred the loudest, and untied my shoes the fastest.

Still no luck in finding a program that will "fix and free" in this state. *sighs* If I take the cats in myself and pay for the proceedure, then by law in this state, they become "my" cats and I'm responsible for them. I'm not ready to take in an entire colony of stray cats. I can't afford it either.

Work went pretty good this afternoon. We were pretty quiet, but I made some darned good tips on the few people I did have, so I'm pleased. I like making good tips better than just making a lot of money by volume, for the fact that I get a good feeling when I get higher tips. It means I gave better service. Of course, it also means I had people that weren't cheap too.

I waited on one woman with the cutest little girl. She was just learning to walk and she kept standing by the table (not running around, just standing in one place) and laughing hysterically like everything was wonderful. We have a picture on the wall that someone has painted of supposed food we serve. It's hard to describe, but it does look like food, just not a very realistic portrayal of food. It's very brightly colored too. This little girl kept pointing to that picture and just laughing. I thought that was great. I'm not the greatest with babies and toddlers, I admit it, but it's really cool when you can see some kid getting a natural high off of a bad painting.

Only bad spot in today is my knee is acting up like crazy and I can feel water gathering in it. It isn't really bad now, but every time I feel it, the liquid has increased. I hope it doesn't swell up like it did a few years ago, that put me out of work for almost six months. I did take my medication for my knee and realized that the perscription expires on my birthday. I think I have one refill left on it though, I just hope refills don't have an expiration date.

So... it's good that the kittens have good homes. But I have to admit, I kinda miss them... okay, I really do miss them. Especially Dopey. He's a very cool kitten.
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Evil I tell you!

There is nothing on my shoes.

When I came home from work today, I cleaned up my shoes. I sprayed them down with windex and wiped ever single inch of them, until they were squeeky clean. Then, I put shoe white on them. I sprayed the inside with lysol, then foot spray, then fabreeze. I put new inserts in the soles. I put new laces in the holes. My shoes look brand new. There is nothing on my shoes but the shoe whitener. Any traces of food from work is gone. Totally gone. Completely gone. In fact, you could never tell by looking at these sneakers that they are a year old, that's how clean I got them. I even scrubbed the bottoms and picked out all the little crap that got into the treds.

So, why the hell is Goten making mad violent love to them? Why is he attempting to lick them, chew them, roll on them and if I didn't know he was fixed, have unprotected sex with them? What could be so fascinating about a pair of extremly clean sneakers? Why have they become the object of his total lust? I've tried looking at them through squinted eyes, but no matter how much I squint, they don't resemble a female cat, they resemble a pair of extremely clean sneakers.

And I put them in the closet, and the little shit managed to open the door, drag them both out, and continue his little orgie of rolling around on them, bitting them, sniffing them, nuzzling his face in them, like some wanton slutcat of desire. "Oh, Ma Chere, you are so wonderful... come wiz me to the Cazbaah where I will make beootyful looove to you, all night long, under zee stars! Oh, you are my one and only... except for maybe your twin sizter... who looks loovely too.."

So, I look at Chrissy and say, "What's with your brother?"

She gives me a look that clearly tells me that she had no choice with his coming to the house, and therefore will neither be responsible, or attempt to offer me any inkling as to his weird behaivor. Then she stormed off into the kitchen and ate almost the entire bowl of crunchies. I think she's stress eating to protest being forced to live with such a perverted dork as Goten.

I have now place the sneakers in a plastic box, sealed the box shut, and put them on the top shelf of the closet. The little shit has managed to open the door again, and is now sitting on the floor, looking up and crying like a pissed off, thwarted lover.

My poor sneakers... I feel like they've been raped.
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